Deck The Hall
by scousemuz1k
Summary: A huge charity concert is planned. It should be wonderful, but it's murder. Team fic, Tony & Tim friendship. No ships. Well, OK, just a tiny bit of unrequited Tiva
1. Chapter 1

Deck The Hall

Chapter 1

The sound of a sixteen piece band warming up is unique, however, it can't be called pleasant. To Gillian Cooper, moving slowly down the corridor outside the green room, the closed door would have made it bearable, but for the crashes of a five piece heavy rock band also warming up in the room opposite. The two sounds blended inharmoniously with the lilting notes of an operatic soprano down the other end of the corridor, a velvety crooner next to her, and from a distance there was the heavy vibration of frenetic recorded music as the dancers rehearsed the show's opening number.

Gill carried the tray of full mugs carefully; just because she was one of the three organisers of the coming gala didn't mean she was too proud to do the menial jobs. If there wasn't room for a coffee machine in the tiny office they'd been lent, and there wasn't, she'd go down to the tiny kitchen and make the drinks there. She eased herself into the room where her two colleagues sat; the "Dread Triumvirate", people called the three of them. They weren't particularly fierce, or dread, but you sometimes had to be a bit sharp, even with people who were giving up their time and effort for free, if you were total amateurs trying to put on an event of mega proportions.

She set a mug down by Nadia's elbow; Nadia Forrest, nee Lupescu, the most formidable woman she knew, her neighbour and best friend. "_Mersi_," Nadia muttered, scarcely moving her eyes from her computer. She was liaising with the lawyers over the TV rights to the show. Gill gave another mug to Selina Hawksworth, who gave her back a grateful smile, her perfect teeth bright against warm chocolaty skin. "Aw, thanks, darlin'," she said in a soft Texan drawl. Gill was just handing two more mugs to Petra and Cheri, the two regular box-office workers from the concert hall, who'd both given up a lot of free time, and whom no-one ever had to be sharp with, when a head came round the door. Ah – someone they all liked, but who seemed to come in for a lot of sharpness anyway.

"Hey!" Tony DiNozzo said brightly, "I've sorted the problem out with the front of house girls…. They're all eating out of my hand now!"

"Good," Nadia said, trying to be severe. "_Acum_, if you just make sure that road manager does not call them little bunny bums again, we shall be fine!" She smiled fondly at him. "_Ach, DiNozzo,_" she thought, "_you better be glad I love my Will, or I eat you alive!_"

The first time Nadia had encountered Tony was in the unhappiest of circumstances; she had rushed to Gill's side when her husband was killed by a terrorist's bomb. The Special Agent had brought her friend's son Josh home, and seemed to have developed a rapport with the young man; she could tell that he was a good person, and she also had to admit that he was very tasty, as her American friends would say.

Tony knew exactly what she was thinking, and flashed her a wide grin. He knew her history, and, if she did but know it, he admired her greatly. As a twenty year old, after the fall of Ceaucescu, she had set out to backpack across Europe with a few friends. When they ran out of money they found work in Croatia, and were trapped when the war of independence began. For four years they did whatever they could, working mostly on farms, and Nadia took under her wing four Croatian orphans that she found abandoned and simply couldn't turn her back on, marshalling her friends to help provide for them. In 1995, hungry, battered and thirsty, they were picked up by a US marine patrol led by Lance Corporal Will Forrest, from a drifting cabin cruiser, which Nadia had unhesitatingly stolen to try to get her orphans across the Adriatic to Italy. They were taken on board the USS Kearsarge, their story captured many hearts, and now, fourteen years and many adventures later, here she was, married to Master Sergeant Will. They were adoptive parents to the four, and had another son together.

Nothing fazed Nadia; so when Selina Hawksworth had had the idea of putting on a Christmas charity concert for the benefit of Navy and Marine families in need, the first person she'd asked was Nadia. The tiny, redoubtable blonde immediately recruited her friend Gillian, knowing that she deeply mourned her husband, and needed, whether she liked it or not, something big to get her teeth into. With three unstoppable ladies, big it was.

"Why think small, when you can have the DAR Hall?" Tony had asked, when Josh emailed him about it. The Daughters of the American Revolution agreed in principle at once, and with such a venue, why not think seriously big? Like _huge?_

"I _know_ June Moon!" Abby had shrieked when Tony had told her how things were shaping up. He'd offered Gill whatever help he could give; partly to keep an eye on her as he'd promised Josh, and partly because he knew that his young friend would be coming down from Princeton for Christmas, possibly with his girlfriend Anne-Marie, and he was looking forward to seeing them… made him feel young again… he sighed a little inside himself.

"Er… June Moon?" he asked warily.

"Yes…_June Moon! _You know… keyboards player with the Randy Landy Band!"

Now it was McGee's turn.

"Er… Randy Landy?"

"What _is_ it with you guys? _The_ Randy Landy band! I play them all the time! You've heard them!"

DiNozzo and McGee were bobbing their heads like nodding dog bookends; neither of them had remembered to close his mouth.

"There's Randy Landy, well, his surname's Land really, the only one whose name really rhymes is Zeke McPeake."

"That's a real name?" Tim asked unwisely.

"Sure! Why shouldn't someone be called Ezekiel? Daddy was a pastor! He's the one who started the rhyming thing anyway, June's real surname is Harper. And Morton Horton, well his first name is really Howard, and Pete Street is really Peter LaRue, and it's all fun and the fans love it and they're fantastic, and they've even cut a disc ready for Christmas… and if I ask June I'm sure they'll want to be involved…" she stopped with a huge smile, they could almost imagine her tail wagging.

"No harm in asking them, Abbs. Let us know what they say?" The two turned to leave the lab, and Tim paused.

Almost afraid, he asked, "What's the title of this Christmas record, then?"

Abby beamed. "Get Your Reindeer Off My Roof", she said proudly.

------------------------

The Randy Landy Band came on board after a short argument with their agent, and after that things snowballed; so that now, after three months of intensely hard work from a lot of willing people, a Magnificent Feast of Christmas Entertainment, as the billboards had screamed, was fully subscribed, and had TV companies from all over the world signed up to broadcast. People who did this sort of thing for a living had signed up to help, so the snowball now glittered with confidence. The show was also due to be beamed to Armed Forces on overseas duties, with messages from their families overlaid. There was cause for pride for all involved.

The trouble was, as might be expected to some extent, the closer the day came, the more fraught things were. As the A listers from the USA and Europe assembled for the last two days of rehearsal, the helpers had their work cut out. Hence Tony's run-in with the front of house staff. They were regular employees of the concert hall, and knew what they were doing, and didn't need a large, unkempt bassist telling them to move their cute little asses out of his way. Some of the dancers overheard and thought that the remark was aimed at them, and since some of those dancers were male, and some of _them _were gay, nobody was pleased.

"Tony," Gill had said, "You can talk the hind leg off a donkey. Go and do your stuff." And Tony, his team on a four day stand-down after a series of difficult cases, when he was supposed to be getting some rest, had sighed, and gone and done just that.

Ziva was making use of her languages talking to the press from many different countries. Tim, coerced by his enfant terrible friend and an ecstatic, happy goth, when he'd much rather have been writing, nevertheless thought he had the best job on the show. Assigned to look after the great Marieke van Hoorn, since he remarked how much he liked her work, he'd been petrified at the mere thought of meeting her. Gibbs, who approved of what his team were doing with their scarce and precious spare time, but considered himself too little of a diplomat to get involved, nevertheless admitted that one of the only four tunes he listened to was the Dutch Diva singing "Porgi amor".

When McGee met her at the airport and drove her to her hotel, he was both captivated and put at ease. The beautiful Dutchwoman, whose bio unbelievably said she was forty-one, had tumbling chestnut hair, pale, translucent, flawless skin with a light smattering of freckles, clear grey eyes and an earthy laugh. (Call me Mik, please!) She was so unlike what he expected a Diva to be, that he told Tony that evening that he thought he'd fallen in love.

"I'm only half joking, Tony. You wait 'til you meet her tomorrow. You'll love her too." And Tony did. And so did everyone else she met.

The band leader, Captain Russell Burns, was not so popular. The unfortunate dancers were all condemned as fairies; he wasn't prepared for his band of naval personnel to share the green room with anyone else, especially those 'scruffy junkie banshees', which meant that one of the rooms the volunteers had been using had to be cleared for Randy and his band to use. The tall, good natured guitarist, out of his gear and into jeans and sweater looked nothing like scruffy or a junkie, and the truth was, he was neither; but it was the 'banshee' bit that had hurt him. He and his band were all excellent musicians; as good at their thing as Burns was at his, and once again it took all of Tony's diplomacy to smooth things over. He found himself wishing, unkindly, for a nice murder.

Eddie Salvatore, he of the renowned velvet voice, hyper-smooth style and come-to-bed eyes, didn't help much either. When he saw Russell Burns in the foyer, he said loudly, "What the buggeration is _he_ doing here?" and stalked away.

"Good heavens," a rich, plummy voice said from the doorway. "What a disagreeable display of temperament."

"Gah," Burns muttered. "Just what we need. Ham." He too marched away, disdain in every step.

"Well, dears," the mellow tone continued, "We really can't please everybody all the time, can we." Quinton Fairchild, Shakespearian, character actor, raconteur and shameless _jambon_ swept in.

Josh stepped forward to welcome him; Anne-Marie whispered to Tony, "I'm sure even the ham is an act, you know," as she went to join him. The famous actor, who was to give readings from well known Christmas stories, professed himself delighted to be escorted by two such lovely young people. His exit with Josh and Anne-Marie was as splendid as his entrance.

Pete Street watched him go and muttered unkindly something about windbags.

Mik van Hoorn was relaxed about it all. "It's always like this," she said, her English faultless and without accent. "We musicians thrive on temperament. Don't worry. It will be a wonderful show. Is there anywhere we can get coffee?"

"I'll bring you some in your dressing room," Tim said promptly.

"No need, Tim. Let's just get some from the machine and sit here and people-watch."

Tony surprised Tim by offering to go to the machine; when he got back, he found that Tim and the Diva had been joined by Randy. The heavy metal man and the Diva seemed completely at ease, and so did McGee. _"The Probie's growing up,"_ Tony thought. _"Even a year ago he'd have been hyperventilating."_

They talked about the planned fund-raising, and any other subject that came up, until Tim looked at his watch. "The first full run-through begins in half an hour" he said. "Mik, is there anything you need before –"

A scream cut him off, as one of the dancers came running into the foyer. She was shouting and crying, in her native Spanish, and Tony jumped up to see what was wrong. She kept pointing towards backstage, and Tim could only make out two words. '_Matar_' and '_asesinato_', as far as he was concerned, both meant murder. Tony calmed the girl as best he could, and lifted her hands to examine them. They were red with blood.

They all followed the dancer, who sobbed out that her name was Pilar, down to the bay where the costumes were stored. "I go for costumes for me, for Therese," she said, and gestured to a rack. "I put my hands in to gather many costumes, and I feel wet… something… I look…." She began to cry again.

Tony stepped around the rack, and said, "McGee, keep everyone back, and call Ziva. And Gibbs."

Slumped on his face, two drumsticks sticking out of his neck, one on each side like handlebars, lay Captain Russell Burns.

**AN: I decided, having got the bug, to have a go at a case fic without angst. I'll even try for a bit of humour!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I've just been to THE most amazing firework display. For the finale, the black sky poured down golden rain for about three minutes. I could have watched for ever. So now the big kid has to get this chapter finished.**

Deck The Hall

Chapter 2

A watcher in the shadows raged silently. He had been so close. He had been so patient. Almost fifteen years of waiting, and the bastard was dead before _he_ could kill him. He ground his teeth. Dead with the man were all the answers; the answers to the questions he'd carried with him for so long; the answers that would have finally set him free.

He hissed in fury, and was alarmed to see how the cop, agent, (shit, who'd have thought there were law officers already _here,_) whoever he was kneeling over the body, lifted his head sharply. As the man slowly rose to his feet, easing up the heavy sweater he wore to uncover the holster at his hip, the watcher took two silent steps back, turned and vanished into the backstage labyrinth, not waiting to see if he was followed.

Tony was almost certain he'd heard something, but there was no-one in sight, and he realised that if he followed the sound there were too many escape routes to cover. His quarry, if there really was one, would have rejoined normal backstage life and become indistinguishable from it. He grunted in frustration; even if he _had_ just heard the killer, and just missed seeing him –or her – what sort of proof would he have had? The hiss puzzled him though – if someone really was hanging about, why would they make a sound that suggested they were as frustrated as he was? Surely they'd achieved their purpose? Tony sighed andreturned to the corpse.

He and McGee and Ziva had moved smoothly into action the way they always did; the enormity of the job was not lost on any of them, however. Tony's first action given a choice would have been to lock down the building, but in the circumstances, that was impossible. In any case there had been enough time between the murder and its discovery for any number of people to leave the building by any number of exits. The Dread Triumvirate stood anxiously by, trying to look as if the question uppermost in their minds _was_ 'who killed that poor man', and _wasn't _'can the show go on?'

McGee photographed the blood marks on the wall with his phone camera, as they had no equipment with them; the arterial spray showed that this was the crime scene, as did the trail where the body had slid down the wall, and the pool as it had slumped forward when the dead man's knees hit the floor. "You can see the marks in the trail where the dancer's hands touched the wall and she felt the blood," Tim said. "Nasty."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "That was nasty too," he said, pointing to the drumsticks.

"It would seem to make it personal," McGee said. "Motive would help to narrow things down. At the moment we've hundreds of suspects…"

"And no way of controlling them," Tony agreed.

Ziva came over, hearing their remarks. "It will be extremely difficult for us," she said softly. "The work towards the performance has to go on, and we have to work around it."

"We're agreed, then?" Tony asked. "We don't just close the whole thing down?"

"I am surprised to hear you even suggest it when you have worked so hard," Ziva reproved him. "I know you are not seriously considering such a thing."

"You're the senior agent –"

"At least until Gibbs gets here," Tony interrupted, not wanting to hear McGee say it.

"That's right," Tim went on, unfazed. "It's your decision."

"_Well, so much for democracy,"_ Tony thought. "We're up to it, aren't we?" he said brightly. "Ziva, keep a lookout for Gibbs. I thought he'd be here by now; he'll want to know what we've done so far. Hey, you know about dancers, right?"

"You are thinking maybe that if one came down here to obtain a costume then others might also have done?"

"No… I hadn't thought of that." He nodded approvingly. "I was just wondering why this place was chosen, but of course –"

"It may simply be because it is secluded," Ziva finished for him. "It may not be anything to do with the dancers, but I will speak to them, and try to find out. I will try also to determine how many of them were together, or have some other alibi for the time." She moved away, managing to hurry without ever making a graceless rush. He'd have to ask her how she did it.

"Ziva?" She turned back and raised her eyebrows enquiringly. "See if you can find someone to direct Ducky round to the properties door. We need all the equipment in the truck as well as the Man Himself."

"I will ask them to harry him along," Ziva said obligingly, and disappeared.

"McGrissom, you're in charge of the crime scene, I'll see that you're not disturbed, and get back as quickly as I can, then you can see about getting whatever computer fire-power you need. If Gibbs arrives, call me, OK?" He stood up, and straightened his sweater over his holster again. Damn, he was fond of it, it was the one Jackson Gibbs had given him, and he'd just as soon not have risked it by wearing it at a crime scene. He walked unhurriedly over to the three waiting ladies, drawing his investigator persona round him like a cloak; he didn't rush because he'd found that an air of calmness begets calm.

Selina thought, _"Where's the goofy guy gone?"_

Gillian thought,_ "Ah, Very Special Agent DiNozzo. I remember __**him**__!"_

Nadia voiced her thoughts to them both. "Ah, Tony the cop is very sexy, no?"

They both shot her reproving looks as the sexy cop approached.

"Tony," Gill began hesitantly.

"I know," the tall agent said, "you're worried about the show. As far as I'm concerned, it goes on. We'll work the investigation round that. Somehow. Hey, it might not be my decision. You need to talk to a lot of people I guess, but my feeling is that there's already too much goodwill tied up in the show for it not to go ahead."

Selina squared her shoulders. When she'd first had the idea that she now always referred to as The Snowball, she'd been so excited she'd prodded her husband awake in the middle of the night to tell him about it. The bewildered Commander had looked blank, said "Yes, very nice, darling," and slumped back to sleep. Selina had been energised; she'd imagined, she'd dreamed. She'd never imagined something like this. She said sadly, "Is there anything in particular that you want us to do?"

"Yes," Tony said positively. "Two things. One: Deal with the press however you think best, but keep them away from us, and don't talk about the case. Just say the Captain's dead, don't mention details. Two: Go and talk to the band. Two of you at least, so you can each corroborate what the other hears. Obviously you'll need to find out if they want to go on; but use that to get whatever other background information you can. What he was like, what they thought of him…. Go and gossip, girls!"

They managed half smiles for him, and went off to embark on their salvage mission, and Tony went to check that all exits to the building were manned and secure; more to keep out over zealous scribblers and snappers than anything else. He was very pleased and grateful to find that the general manager of the DAR hall had already attended to that, and that he had already organised the day's rehearsals to go ahead as closely as possible to what had been planned.

He asked Petra and Cheri to make as comprehensive a list as possible of everyone in the building. He found Pilar, being fussed over by her fellow dancers, and impressed a few by reassuring her in her own language, but left her statement for Ziva to take; he had no wish to make the Israeli agent think he didn't trust her to do her job. He went round speaking briefly to Josh and Anne-Marie, and to all the performers so that they weren't kept in the dark. The fact that one of them could quite easily be a murderer didn't escape him, but for now there was nothing wrong with basic good manners.

He organised a flow around the area of the crime scene that caused as little disruption as possible, but left them able to work unobserved and unhindered, and hunted down the technicians who ran all the cameras in the building, to obtain copies of everything they had. He knew that the next thing was to set about raising enough man-power to question more than a hundred people; that was going to be difficult. He fetched coffee for Tim and Ziva and went back to the crime scene in search of them, and into all this, at last, walked Gibbs, accompanied by Ducky, and Jimmy Palmer.

Gibbs was already clutching a Starbucks cup; Tony was relieved. Somehow, having taken charge, even for a short time, he would have hated it if the Boss's first words were to bark an order to fetch him a coffee. He told himself to stop being so negative, and simply said, "Hi, Boss, have you seen Ziva and McGee?"

"They're coming. What have you got?"

Ducky was already examining the body while Tony filled Gibbs in on the story so far. As he spoke, Ziva returned with two evidence cases, and Tim with as much computer equipment as he could carry. As soon as their hands were free, Tony gave them their coffee without missing a beat, and segued into explaining to Tim where the manager had suggested he set himself up.

Tim nodded. "I need to show you something first," he said, uncertain of whether to tell Gibbs or DiNozzo. Tony held an arm out to invite Ziva, McGee and Gibbs to precede him. "I thought with all the arterial blood that the killer may have got it on his or her clothes," Tim went on. "So I looked further afield and I found this."

There was a smear of blood on the frame of the doorway out of the costume bay towards the dressing rooms. A helpful stagehand stood on guard. Tim shone his torch at the mark, which was at shoulder height, and said, "Tell me those are fibres in there."

"Nice work, McBloodhound," Tony said, so enthusiastically that Tim wondered what the catch was, but there was no sharp follow-up. "Those are fibres in there. You said tell you. I er.. I dunno if you can see them, boss… dark coloured, I think, hard to tell with the blood." He turned back to Tim. "Did you get a sample? No… course not, that's what the guard's doing here. Smart thinking." Tim produced the necessary equipment and took a sample, as Gibbs looked on. Since his opening remark, the Boss had said not a word. They made their way back to Ducky, with Tim musing on Gibbs' silence and two compliments from Tony in one speech. There was something hinky going on. It must be the Christmas spirit.

Tony couldn't understand what was going through Gibbs' mind either; but he was going easy on Tim because he knew that however hard they'd already worked for the event, they were going to have to work harder now, and he wasn't mean enough to demoralise his junior colleague.

Gibbs said suddenly, "Well, you seem to have it all under control." He looked around. "You know this place; you've started the investigation – OK, you take the lead. What do you want me to do?"

The only jaw that didn't drop open was Ducky's. Tony shut his with a snap; nothing if not quick on the uptake, he was pretty sure that if he didn't move fast the opportunity would disappear as fast as it had appeared. He replied instantly, "Well over a hundred people to interview, Boss. Get us some more manpower?"

"Sure," Gibbs said. He flipped his cell phone open. As he turned away to make the call, Tony noticed something stuck to his cheek. It was transparent, and shiny, with edges that were not clearly defined. Tony looked hard, whilst trying not to look as if he was looking. No… it couldn't be. It looked like spirit gum, the sort of thing that was used in a make-up department. Gibbs… difficult to reach… late… in disguise…

Oh. My. Godfather. Tony turned away to hide the absolutely _huge_ grin that was taking control of his face. Gibbs… never… wow.

Ziva said, "What are you smiling so hard about, Tony?"

"Nothing, Ziva. Nothing, _honestly._"

**What??**


	3. Chapter 3

Deck The Hall

Chapter 3

Gibbs threw a suspicious look over his shoulder. Ziva had turned away, in a huff that Tony wouldn't share his joke, and McGee's attention was on his computers. Tony looked Gibbs straight in the eyes and mouthed, "Ho Ho Ho."

Gibbs' eyes widened for the briefest moment, and then his face was under control again. They shared a long look, while Tony's eyes danced with mirth. A tiny smile lifted the corner of Gibbs' mouth; he knew his secret was safe with his Senior Field Agent. Tony shook his head ruefully. Who the hell would have believed him anyway? The Boss nodded briefly and began to turn away again, then once more he turned back. He gestured at the fine wool sweater, knowing its history, and said, "You weren't expecting a crime scene."

"No, Boss, I wasn't. I've been wearing it cuz it's long enough to cover my gun – I didn't want the world and his little cousins to know I was carrying. It's a shame to risk it, though."

"Give it to me. I'll take it to the truck and bring you back an NCIS jacket."

"I could go myself, Boss."

"S'all right. I need a quiet spot to phone Balboa."

"Er… Boss," Tony said softly, "We were on down time. I should have got another team in. I think I screwed things up for you. I shouldn't have started this."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "You saying you can't handle this, DiNozzo?"

Tony's voice went up an octave. "No, Boss! You -" Come on, DiNozzo, you know a 'don't worry about it' when you hear one. "OK, thanks, Boss."

"No problem." And Tony knew he was being thanked for not yelling that Ho Ho Ho out all over the theatre. "Hey, some things are too important to screw with, Boss," he muttered softly to himself.

Ducky's voice broke into his thoughts, and he turned to squat beside the ME. "I take it that _you_ can tell_ me_ the time of death, Anthony," Ducky said cheerfully.

"To the closest ten minutes," Tony agreed. "But what about the how, Ducky? Is it as obvious as it looks?"

"Ah, well, I'm tempted to assume, but of course I'll know for certain once I get the unfortunate captain on my table… no, actually I _am _quite certain that these were the culprits." Ducky carefully lifted the drumsticks he had retrieved from the body. Tony whistled.

"Ziva, McGee, come and take a look at these," he called. He looked up at Ziva. "Hey, ninja girl, have you ever seen a murder weapon like this...er, these?"

Ziva raised her perfect eyebrows. "I have seen people stabbed by many weapons," she said, "but never those."

"The killer sharpened the ends," Tim said, pulling a 'ew' face. "I thought that he probably had done, because if they had the usual tips, it would have taken incredible strength to drive them in."

"I believe you are right, Timothy," Ducky said seriously. "As it is, they have been made so sharp that I don't believe it took much strength at all. Both carotid arteries were pierced."

"Could a woman have done it?" Ziva asked.

Tony chuckled darkly. "I don't want to think there could be another ninja chick around here, Ziva," he said. Ducky refused to be sidetracked.

"Most certainly," he said, "although there is nothing to suggest the sex of the killer. As I said, I'll know more when I've completed the autopsy, but I will tell you that the person was right handed, and not particularly tall."

He looked round happily at his enthralled audience, not at all averse to a bit of theatre, and explained. "The killer was facing him, as is explained by the smears on the back of his clothing, as he slid down the wall. The first weapon went in on the left side of his neck, at a slightly upwards angle, as if the assailant was having to reach up to strike, like this." Tony winced, as the drumstick with its wicked, bloody point was held close to his neck to demonstrate. "He staggered back against the wall, and as he began to go down… Anthony, if you don't mind…" Tony obligingly hunkered further down, "the second strike, to the right side, was somewhat further forward, and at a deep downward angle. That is how I venture to explain the actual tracts of the two wounds. Indeed, I am certain of that much, at least."

"Good work, Ducky. Er.. would you mind…"

"Oh, of course, dear boy, of course." Tony relaxed as the nasty, bloodstained things were removed from the area of his throat. Jimmy came back with the gurney at that point, with one or two rubberneckers following behind, watching. Tony noticed the guitarist, Pete Street, Eddie Salvatore, the leader of the dance troupe, Paddy Cross, and a couple of his dancers whose names he didn't know, as well as two stagehands. He observed that Ziva was noting who was there, too. Good girl.

"Are you ready to take him, Ducky?" she asked, and as Ducky confirmed it, she moved quickly to steer the onlookers away.

When the ME and his assistant had trundled off with the body, escorted by Ziva, Tony took up the camera and shot a few last pictures of the deserted crime scene, then he went to look over Tim's shoulder. McGee didn't wait to be asked.

"I'm pulling up everything I can find about everybody," he said, "starting with Captain Burns."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "Sum him up so far, then – anything stand out?"

"Well… maybe… he's not seen active service for many years now – he formed his band in a small way at first, and once it proved popular, they were sent all over the world entertaining the troops; then he formed the Milleresque group he has now, and they got famous outside of the services. Now it's a blend of service personnel and civilians, and they go where the navy asks them to. He was coming up to retirement in four months time, at which point he would most likely replace the military musicians, the navy would no longer pay or control the band, he could have gone where he liked and charged whatever he wished. The band's popular. He'd have done well."

"Thanks. If you find anything you think I should know, call me. When Ziva gets back, ask her –"

"I am here, Tony."

"Good. Right. How far did you get with the dancers?"

"There are twenty of them, sixteen were with other members of the troupe. I have not yet taken statements from the four who were not."

"You won't have to."

Gibbs' voice broke in. "Unless there's a reason why you particularly want Ziva to do it, two of Balboa's team are on their way in; they'll do the establishing of alibis, and give you a list of those who don't have one. McGee, Cheri's emailed you a list of everyone who's here, been here, or should be here, to give them something to go on." He looked across at Tony. "That OK?"

"That's good, Boss. Er… d'you _need_ to go back with Abby?"

Tony wasn't the only one who was quick on the uptake.

"Yeah… I do. I need to finish what I was doing when McGee called. Give me two hours, and I'll be back."

"Sure thing, Boss," DiNozzo told him with an absolutely straight face, and Gibbs disappeared before either of them lost it altogether.

Ziva said in a puzzled tone, "I do not understand why it was necessary to bring two extra people in. If Gibbs had stayed, then we could have coped, surely? What was so important that he had to leave?"

Tony didn't take the bait. "Well, Probetina, I guess it was like he said, what he was doing when McGee called him. You could always ask him."

Ziva glared, and was about to press Tony further, when Tim said suddenly, "Hey guys, d'you know what drumsticks are made from?"

"Wood," Tony said promptly, and McGee shot him a very dirty look. "Hey, I don't know what sort," the Senior Field Agent added cheerfully. "I've seen aluminium ones, though. They have metal insides, and plastic sleeves and tips, but apparently the tips have been known to fly off occasionally." McGee looked at him with raised brows. "I read it somewhere," Tony said defensively.

"Well if you know _that_ much, Tim said in mild exasperation, how come you don't know what kind of wood?"

"Hickory," a masculine voice said, to the accompaniment of clumping goth feet. Wait a minute, make that clumping goth feet times two. Abby was approaching, accompanied by a tall, slightly tubby guy in black leather trousers, boots with more buckles than her own, and a crimson silk Prince Charming shirt.

He had his arm round a pretty, angular framed girl with plum coloured streaks in her black hair. She was wearing tight black leggings, black uggboots, and a silver t-shirt with black beading and spangles. On the front was the legend, 'Ooh, sparkly – pretty!' Tim craned his neck to read the back, and smiled. It read, 'Ooh, sparkly – want it!' The t-shirt didn't quite conceal a small, round bump, which she unconsciously rubbed from time to time. All three newcomers looked anxious.

"Hickory," Zeke McPeake said again. "Most drummers prefer it to oak or maple. It's tougher. I'm not so fond of the new-fangled stuff, although they last a long time. But I do have a pair of red LED illuminated ones." He looked across at Tim. "Why did you want to know?"

"I was wondering if it was hickory they used. Would it be difficult to sharpen to a good point?"

"Oh yeah," Zeke said. "It's so hard, you'd need a pretty mean knife. A pencil sharpener couldn't hack it."

Although his tone was light he still looked worried, but before he could say anything further, Abby burst out, "Tony, it wasn't him! He's been with me all the time! And so has June! Just because his drumsticks were used it doesn't mean –"

"Wait, wait, wait, Abbs," Tony said soothingly. "I thought you were going back with Gibbs, to start on the forensics."

"I _was,_ Tony, but I saw Zeke's logo on the drumsticks, and I asked Zeke if he was missing a pair. Tony, he was with me, and the rest of the band, when Russell Burns was killed!"

"I _am_ missing a pair of sticks," Zeke said. "I have a pack that I carry a dozen pairs around in. Each pair's kept in a band until I need them. So when I break a stick – everybody does sometimes - I lob the other one into the audience for a souvenir, and break open another pair. The eleven pairs in my pack are untouched, and the pair that was with my skins is missing."

He paused, and Abby made small shooing motions with her hands. "Abby says I should tell you this…" He took a deep breath, "If your coroner guy finds a big fat bruise on Burns' gut, it was me."

"Go on," Tony said neutrally.

"It was yesterday," Zeke said awkwardly. "I heard June's voice in the corridor. I couldn't make out the words, but she was protesting. She sounded alarmed. I went out and Burns had her up against the wall."

June spoke for the first time, her voice completely level and unemotional, in contrast to the expression on her pale face. "The corridor's narrow. To get back to our dressing room, you have to pass the Green Room where his band was. He came out and he wouldn't let me past. He started on about how we weren't fit to call ourselves musicians. He looked at my stomach, and put his hand on it, and said that people like us shouldn't breed. Then he tried to grab my breast, and Zeke came out –"

"And sank my big fat fist into his belly. I imagine I left a big fat bruise like I said. And I'd have done more if I was really the sort of animal he thinks – thought – we are." He sighed. "I won't apologise for defending my wife," he said softly. "But I'm not really a murderous type, and Abby was with us both and the band when she says the guy was killed."

June said, "I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but I will. If you want to know the truth about Russell Burns, talk to his band."

**Review? Please?**


	4. Chapter 4

**There's a mention in this chapter of something that Gibbs once told Tony: Don't ask a question if the answer doesn't change anything. I didn't get this from the show, it's not as far as I know one of Gibbs' rules. It came from Sequitur's wonderful 'When-Tony-met-Gibbs' story 'Rictus'.**

Deck The Hall

Chapter 4

Tony didn't have the heart to tell Ms Moon, sorry, Mrs McPeake, that the first thing he'd done was to send spies out. He decided to see what the Dread Triumvirate had to say before talking to the band himself; still, it was nice to have someone else suggest that his early train of thought might be accurate.

"I take on board everything you've said;" he reassured them. "Abby gives you both an alibi, so unless there's a conspiracy –"

"Tony!" Abby squealed furiously.

"Can't rule these things out, Abbs," he said, although he was grinning, "Unless there's a conspiracy, you're off the hook." He wasn't going to tell them that the easiest way to prove a plot was to catch the perpetrator and then have them fess on their friends. Whatever, none of the band killed Burns. Except… Tony remembered Pete Street's 'windbag' comment; he'd been in the foyer, not with the band then, and he'd been there when the ghoulish crowd followed the gurney. Whether Abby and the other rockers had realised he was missing or simply not noticed, he wasn't going to put them on the spot and ask. It was natural to want to protect your friends, even if it didn't help when you wanted people to think you were sincere, if the said people knew you'd already not told them the whole truth.

Gibbs had once told him that there was no point in asking a question if the answer didn't change anything, and he'd since come to realise that Gibbs had meant there was even more to it than that. Quite apart from not antagonizing suspects or witnesses if it wasn't necessary, it was useful to have the question in reserve. So, he'd ask later if he needed to. He called Abby over.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to take your playmate away," he told Zeke. "Stay together, OK? All the time. Be each others' witnesses."

"You think there'll be more trouble?" June asked, once more unconsciously protecting her bump.

"Not particularly," Tony said calmly, "but it's best not to take chances."

The two musicians left, arms wrapped reassuringly round each other. "McGee," Tony went on, "Are you still on pulling up background info?"

"Well, yes, Tony. There's a lot to pull," he said defensively.

"Hey, I know that. But I need you to drop what you're doing and run those surveillance tapes first."

"Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Possibly; but I don't want to bias you in one direction or another."

Tim gave him an old fashioned look, and risked arguing. "It might help me to know – then I might spot something first time and not have to go through everything twice." He waited for the put down.

"Smart thinking, McGeenius. Start anyway, and I'll tell you in a minute when I've thought it through."

He'd been thinking he'd go and see the Burns band, but had a better idea. Ziva was improving all the time at information filtering, but still needed the experience. He could check things himself later if he thought it was necessary, although he felt he really wouldn't need to.

It still felt odd having her as a probie, who required teaching, but he'd do it, as discreetly as he knew how. There were plenty of ways of teasing and getting in her face, without undermining her, or making her hate her probiehood. "Zi, can you find the DT, and ask them what they discovered about band dynamics? Let me know anything you think's relevant. Ask the band yourself if you find there's anything else you want to know."

"You do not wish for me to check with you first?"

He felt Christmassy. "I trust your judgement, Probinsettia." She glared at him, but he smiled peaceably and carried on. "Check with me if you feel you need to," he said. "If you don't, don't. Go. Investigate, probationary investigator! Oh, and tell them what we said to the group – stay together, OK?"

Ziva gave him an odd look, as if she were having great difficulty figuring him out, but left without saying anything.

Tony's eyes followed her until she disappeared, and still he didn't move. There was a tug at his sleeve. "You'll have to tell her one day," Abby said softly.

"I just don't think about it," he told her just as softly. As she raised her eyebrows, he went on, "Seriously. When it comes into my head, I push it out again. Since we got back…. I thought, you know…." Abby did know; Tony's heart had been on his sleeve since the day they'd walked into the bull pen to the sound of applause, and she sadly felt that if Ziva couldn't see it, then it must be that she didn't want to, and there wasn't a thing Abby could think of to do about it. She rubbed his arm comfortingly. "We've just got to get on with things," he said heavily.

His face changed as if he'd switched a light on, and he glanced over at Tim. He was engrossed in what he was doing, but Tony nevertheless led his confidant out of earshot. "It was your idea, wasn't it," he said eagerly. "It _had _to be your idea. You and your nuns. No-one else could have ever persuaded him to do it."

Abby didn't try to dissemble. "At first," she told him seriously, "I thought it might hurt him, talking to all those youngsters… but do you remember the little girl who was kidnapped on Halloween? Sarah? And Sandy? Whose dad sold her and her mother out for money? And Zach?" Tony rolled his eyes – to have an eight year old (or was he _younger?? _Tony couldn't remember)… make it clear that he thinks you're an idiot and not worth bothering with is something you don't forget. The other thing you don't forget, of course, is that for days and weeks afterwards, you kept worrying about just how right the child was.

"I know Gibbs is good with kids," he agreed, without a hint of his thoughts leaking out into his voice.

"Well, you know, every year just before Christmas, the nuns have a special day for the local children. They always have a Santa – and every year it's Lee Bushnell, and he's really good, and he wants it back next year –"

"Abbs!"

"Well, he broke his leg, and Santa can't really wear a cast, can he? How did you find out? Nobody was supposed to know. He doesn't think I told you, does he?"

"No, Abbs, of course not!" Tony explained. Abby laughed, and told him they'd make a detective out of him yet.

Tony sighed.

"So you knew Gibbs was on down time, and that he'd make a fantastic Santa, and you asked him. And I spoiled it."

"No you didn't. What is it with you? Next thing, you'll be taking the blame for Thanksgiving being wet this year. You couldn't have not taken the case, you were _here_. And you've put it right, anyway. Give over!"

Tony smiled slightly, and kissed Abby's cheek. "Don't know what I'd do without you, Abbs. And now I have to let you go back. Did the forensic evidence go with Ducky?" Abby nodded, and read his mind.

"It's OK, my car's here. I don't have to bum a lift. I'll go. I'll let you know as soon as I have anything." She clumped happily away.

Tim watched her go, then said, "I've got something," in a serious tone. The Senior Field Agent went over quickly to look at his screen. "I realised why you didn't want to give me a straight answer," Tim continued, "when I checked the camera in the foyer." He brought up the footage. "There we all are, drinking coffee with the rich and famous, not long before our down time vanished into thin air…. At the time, Abby was with the group, yes? All of them, she said."

"And there's Pete Street, muttering unkind things at _Sir_ Quinton's back."

"You didn't want Abby to notice the discrepancy."

"McdoubleGeenius. I know she wouldn't lie…" Tony explained where his thoughts had been taking him. "So did you –"

"Start looking for Pete on other cameras? I did, and this is what I found. This is one minute and ten seconds later."

"The corridor outside the Green Room," Tony said.

They watched as first Quinton, accompanied by Josh and Anne-Marie, walked down to his dressing room, and then as Russell Burns appeared. As he came up to the Green Room door, he hesitated, frowned, and looked over his shoulder. As he turned and began to back-track, Pete Street appeared. Neither one of them seemed to be prepared to move aside; Tony wondered inconsequentially how people with instruments coped in the narrow space. There was a hefty collision of shoulders, as Burns shoved past the guitarist and disappeared the way he'd come. Pete stood still for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists, then he too turned, and followed Burns.

Tim forwarded the recording. "Here he comes back, four minutes later. You can't tell from this shot if he's got blood on him…"

"And he's not wearing a dark top. The bloody fibres you found were at shoulder height."

"The drumsticks would have been in the band's room, he didn't go in there to take them – but he _did _follow Burns."

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "The drumsticks showed premeditation, and what we just saw was spur of the moment…"

"But if he followed Burns to have a go at him he might have heard or seen something," Tim finished.

"Nice work, MctripleGeenius." Tim rolled his eyes at him. "You want to pick him up? Ask him some questions? If he's unco-operative, you can arrest him."

"Sure," Tim grinned. "Now Abby's out of the way, I'm not frightened at all to do that." He went off, trying not to get too used to a non-snarky DiNozzo.

Tony went on looking at the footage for a few minutes, but nothing stood out. He turned to the other computer where Tim had been building up a huge file of background information. He decided to look over some of it, rather than mess up McGee's system by trying to add anything, and was just about to call up the file on the Landy band, when he caught a glimpse of something moving close behind him. He tried to jump out of his chair and face the person, but he didn't get the chance. A pair of extremely strong arms clamped round him, he looked down at male hands gripping together against his chest, and he began to fight desperately as the breath was crushed out of him.

It was weird, almost surreal; he could see, through the spots that were beginning to blur his sight, his legs flailing as he tried to work out where the floor was and stand up. He could hear his attacker growling, sounds that he would never have credited a human being with making; it was like being attacked by a yeti. He tried to head-butt backwards, but his assailant was expecting it. Obviously an experienced brawler. Tony tried to hook his leg with his own, but the man simply squeezed even tighter, and the agent felt a rib snap. And another on the same side. He would have yelled if he'd had the breath, but darkness was snatching at the edges of his vision. His attacker felt his resistance fading and simply tossed him face down on the floor. Before the agent could roll over and take a look at him, he kicked the downed man in the side, and then in the side of the head for good measure.

Tony lay still for a while, willing himself to feel better and do something; around him he could hear the sound of things breaking, of furniture being thrown, and angry muttering. Their equipment was being smashed, and he was powerless to do anything.

"_Like hell you are, DiNozzo, come on!"_

He drew his gun shakily, although he couldn't see straight to use it. But he _would_ get a look at him. Rolling over was agony; the grating sensation inside his chest competed with the nauseating pain in his head, but he made himself turn onto his back, he made himself raise the Sig, and he made himself focus his eyes.

Ah, _shit._ Hoodie. The yeti's face was hidden. Tony tried to take in as much of his appearance as he could, but by now he was seeing two of the guy. His gun began to sink towards the floor again, as the hooded man gave a yell of rage. He picked up one of the hard drives, and hurled it down on the man at his feet. Tony raised his hands vaguely to protect his face, which made sense, but the metal cabinet simply dealt him a hefty blow in the chest instead. He yelped weakly at the new pain, and heard his attacker laughing as he lost consciousness.

**AN Oh, dear. I hadn't intended to hurt him – at least not yet! It just came over me.**


	5. Chapter 5

Deck The Hall

Chapter 5

"_Don't let Gibbs find out, don't let Gibbs find out, don't let Gibbs find out…"_

Tony's eyes flew open, as an even worse thought hit him. Worse than Gibbs? Oh, yeah. It had him rolling to his knees, in the middle of a scene of devastation; never mind the pain, he was going to stand up, _now!_ If the Dread Triumvirate saw him like this it would be mothering, or smothering – in triplicate! He supposed it was the kick in the head, but he had a terrible vision of Nadia trying to get his trousers off, and vainly attempting to persuade her that ribs are in the torso, not the ass.

He realised that using his right arm wasn't a good idea, and that set off another urgent train of incoherent thought. Gun… holding gun… it was where he'd been lying; he thanked God, fate, whatever, that he'd fallen on it. The yeti hadn't sounded as if he were thinking rationally, if he had been, he might have thought that a nice Sig would have been a useful acquisition, and looked for it. Tony, still on his knees, holstered it, and thanked his stars again; how would he have explained the loss of his gun to the Boss? Some case lead he'd have been.

He used his left hand to right one of the trestle tables that had held a computer, and used the table to climb to his feet; then stood swaying, looking at the havoc that surrounded him. What was McGee going to think of his babies all smashed to jigsaws? The system units of all three machines had been torn apart. Every file box had been emptied on the floor, the printer and scanner smashed open, the office chair ripped up and the back torn off; and just for good measure, the few costumes that the dancers hadn't taken by now, were thrown around the room. The rack they'd been hanging on was driven through one of the monitor screens. Er… wow. Some yeti.

OK… he could stand without falling. Now… what?

Gibbs said inside his head,

"Shape up, DiNozzo, can you lead this case or not?"

"On it, Boss," Tony muttered aloud, and lurched towards the door into the corridor, which stood ajar. God, his chest hurt. The right side. And the centre. And his left side, and his head… don't think about it. Close that door before anyone sees… the door was pushed open from the other side, and McGee fell into the room.

Tony grabbed him to keep him on his feet; the result was pain that made him squeak, and the collapse of both of them onto the dingy concrete. Without actually managing to discuss it, they leaned against the door to stop anyone else's entry, slumped side by side, gasping for breath. Tim looked at Tony and said, "Nice."

Tony looked at Tim, nodded, and said "Very nice." McGee's cheek, along the bone, was abraded and bruised, and there was a cut on his temple that still bled sluggishly.

Tim saw Tony's look, pointed, and said, "You should see my shin." As Tony went to lift his trouser leg, his colleague hissed and slapped his hand away. DiNozzo muttered an apology. "Tony," McGee said sharply, "Were you _shot_?"

Tony looked bewildered until Tim pointed at his chest. Dead centre, there was a hole in the light grey t-shirt he was wearing, a hole surrounded by a small, circular bloodstain. It did look scary.

Tony shook his head, and as he hauled the shirt up to take a look at the small triangular cut made over his sternum by the corner of a unit, he said tragically, "One of _your_ computers turned on me, McGee." He fixed his friend with a reproachful look, then took Tim's chin cautiously in his left hand, and turned his head to inspect his damaged temple.

"He got you as well, then."

"I was coming back to tell you about Pete, and the guy came charging down the corridor, and punched his way straight through me as if I wasn't there. I tried to grab him, he kicked my shin… crap, it hurts… I couldn't even get the hood off to see his face."

"Probably just as well. If you'd seen who he was, he might have killed you."

Tim sighed. "You'd have thought by now I'd know how to defend myself," he huffed.

Tony shook his head. "Don't think so, McLionheart – what are you laughing at?"

"I'd take that as more of a compliment if I didn't remember that it was once preceded by 'big brain, small muscles', Tim grouched. Tony peered earnestly into his eyes. "Dammit, DiNozzo, I'm not concussed!"

"McGee," his friend said, "He grabbed me from behind, and broke two of my ribs simply by squeezing." Tim gave a concerned yelp, but Tony ignored it. "I tried to fight dirty, but I didn't stand a chance. I'm not making excuses here… but I've never encountered anyone so strong. It was like fighting a yeti. I don't think… hey, I _know,_" he patted his friend's knee – but not the injured leg, "You couldn't have done a thing."

They were both silent for a minute. Tim sighed. He and Tony looked at each other and started to laugh. "And after that moment of deep fraternal bonding," Tim said…

"We can't sit around here all day," Tony finished.

"I think we need Ducky," Tim said morosely, looking at the blood on the leg of his jeans, and pulling out his phone.

"McGee," Tony said urgently, "Just Ducky, OK?"

"No Gibbs?"

"Trust me, McGee, the Boss'll get here when he can. Tell Ducky not to disturb him." The seriousness in the green eyes zapped Tim. "Not my secret, McCurious. Ask Abby some time, but not today." Tim nodded, and flipped his phone. Tony also reached for his cell.

"Ziva? Yes, I _did_ say you didn't have to check in… no, I'm not checking up on you… it doesn't matter if you've not finished. Yes, I'm glad you organized that… No, I – _**Ziva!!**__" _That got through. "Zi, I just need you here. Yes, right now. Don't come alone, there's a yeti about…. Have some company on the way here, but don't let anyone past the door. Fine. Good girl."

Tim got slowly to his feet, gritting his teeth. He looked down at Tony, suddenly anxious at the white face and uncomfortable breathing. "Can you get up?"

"Of course!" Tony bit his lip and huffed slightly. "Truth is, I don't know."

"What if Nadia comes?"

Tony held his hand out instantly, and Tim allowed him to more or less climb up him. "Just don't touch my shin!" he squawked. He looked at his computers sadly, then became businesslike. "The work's not lost," he said positively. "The hard drives are still intact. If he wanted to destroy our information he chose the wrong way. And everything we had was retrievable from our original sources… it would delay us, but only by an hour or two…"

Tony was perched on the edge of the trestle table, his chin sunk on his chest. He lifted his head suddenly. "He was looking for something," he said. "He didn't find it." Tim waited patiently; when DiNozzo was in cop mode, he didn't interrupt.

"He used enough force on me to get me out of his way as quickly as possible," Tony said. "It was pretty callous, I don't think he cared one way or the other if he killed me or not; the kick in the head was fairly gratuitous, I was already down. Once he'd dealt with me, his attention was on breaking things. Look around, Tim."

Tim did, sadly; when his friend's defences were down so much he actually used his first name, he had to be in poor shape. "Everything's been taken _apart_, even the chair. The scanner's smashed – every box has been tipped out. He was looking for something."

"Something small enough to be hidden inside a chair, or a computer unit," Tim mused.

"Whatever it was, he thought we had it, and when he couldn't find it, he did _that." _He pointed to the skewered monitor. That was a bad idea, as he forgot and used his right arm. The resulting pain as his ribs shifted made him suppress a ragged groan of pain, and brought on a wave of faintness that had him slowly pitching forwards. Tim hurried to him as fast as he could limp.

"Come on, put your head down for a bit… breathe slowly… don't fall off the table….Tony, _don't fall off the table…_ I'm in no shape to pick you up again… that's better. Ducky'll be here soon."

Ziva's voice broke into his soothing monologue.

"Why would we need Ducky? I think what we need here is a dumpster." She stopped in the middle of the chaos and took in the state of her colleagues.

Ever since their Domino escapade, when he'd gone down and she'd gone ninja, Tony had occasionally allowed himself to hope that, if she discovered him injured, she would run to him, her eyes full of concern. He would feel her gentle touch as she tended his wounds; he'd hear her soft voice whispering comforting nothings. Dream on, DiNozzo.

"And…" she said slowly, as she surveyed the mess, and them, severely, "I do not see a yeti." She holstered her gun with a decisive snap.

Tony swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, and said matter-of-factly, "You didn't see him on your way here, then."

"No. When you called, I was about to call you, to tell you that two of Agent Balboa's team arrived, and I asked them to begin checking Petra's list straight away to establish alibis."

"That's good." _This is surreal. I'm going to__** die**__ from this pain; and McGee's going to keel over…and here we are, still investigating. Smile, DiNozzo. Smile._ "Did the DT find anything out?"

"That Burns was not well liked; that the ladies were given many examples of his pettiness: that female members of the band never stayed more than a few months; that the line-out –"

"Line-up, Zi…"

"Yes, that. The line-up changed quite frequently. Given the chance to avoid active service, musicians would be eager to join, but would soon want to go back to other duties." She looked at Tony's pale face, and the arm wrapped round his chest, and she really wanted to show some concern, but she knew it would only be brushed aside, so she simply went on with her report.

"The only thing to emerge which seemed to me to be curious, was that the pianist, Alan Hagen, had been with Burns since the formation of the first band, eighteen years ago. When I asked him how he stuck it for so long, since no-one else could, he just laughed. He said that Burns would come into a windfall when he retired, he didn't know what it was, but he intended to get himself a share in it. It would be a reward for tolerating Burns for so long.

"I spoke to all of the band except one, they seem to have all been together, or in twos and threes. The drummer I didn't speak to, but I could hear him practicing in a small room next door. They made him go in there because the noise level was too much for them. They said don't go in, it's too noisy, so I did not, but I will make a point of speaking to him later. The others said he'd been there all day. They wonder how they'll get on without a conductor, but they didn't want to abandon the concert. I advised them to stay together, and they said they would try. Now I have told you all that, tell me, what has happened here? What has happened to you both?"

"I should like to know the answer to that question too," Dr. Mallard said as he walked in. "Oh my, dear children, it seems we have another crime scene to process!"

Tony sighed, but Ducky was a welcome sight. "We're your crime scene, Ducky."

The good doctor sighed in his turn as he regarded the two younger men; neither one looked very good, but a phantom 'I'm fine' sounded in Ducky's mind. Oh, yes; Tony was already wearing that over bright smile that said he was going to be a very difficult patient.

**AN: Five chapters and we're only just scratching the surface! What have I taken on here? Am I boring you?**


	6. Chapter 6

Deck The Hall

Chapter 6

He was right. "Fix McGee first, Ducky," the Senior Field Agent insisted. "He can tell us what Mr. Street had to say, to distract him from the pain of having his leg glued back on."

"Har har," Tim grumbled. "Tony, your ribs are broken –"

Tony held a finger up, and looked to heaven virtuously. "As case leader," he said nobly, "it is my duty to attend to the welfare of those under my -"

"Ok, o-kay!" McGee conceded. Ducky beamed.

"We appear to be getting somewhere," he observed, cutting up the seam of Tim's jeans. The younger man began to protest, and Ducky shook his head a little; the lad was getting almost as awkward as Anthony. "Dear boy, it's either this, or cutting the leg off completely!"

"There, now, McGrouch, you don't want to lose your leg, do you?" Tim rolled his eyes at the feeble attempt at humour, and began to recount his conversation with Pete Street, (which was what Tony had actually intended).The odd thing was, it really did take his mind off the miserable, throbbing pain in his swollen shin. Mostly.

"I told him what the camera had seen, and he didn't deny it. He said he'd counted to ten, but he remembered what Burns had done to June, and decided not to ignore what had just happened. He started back, and saw Burns in the distance, heading down –_ffffff - _towards the costume store. He was with someone else, who was walking ahead of him down the corridor, but he couldn't make out who it was, except that they were shorter than Burns, and dressed in dark clothes. He said that from the build, he felt it was a man, and that he had dark hair. _Sheesh!! _He couldn't hear what they were saying, but their voices sounded angry; he hoped that the other guy was going to – I quote – 'break his effing nose', so he left them to it, and returned to the band room. He's signed a statement to that effect, and my feeling is that he was telling the - _ow!_ - truth."

Tony nodded acceptance of McGee's judgement, as Ducky inspected his head wounds. "These seem straightforward," the ME said, "Ziva, my dear, if you would be so good as to attend to these?"

"Of course, Ducky." Since she had her back to Tony, and since Ducky was delving into his medical bag, only Tim saw the look of hurt that crossed the SFA's face, and he knew that it wasn't physical. He wished he could help, but there was nothing he could do or say, even if he was sure what his friend was thinking.

Tony was recalling what he'd been dreaming not ten minutes ago; and there she was, treating Tim the way he longed for her to treat_ him._ He closed his eyes in pain, and let his breath out slowly, in a long, soft sigh that he hoped Ducky wouldn't notice. But of course he did, even if he misunderstood what he heard.

"I'm sorry, Anthony, I_ am_ trying not to hurt you," the doctor apologised. Tony came out of his fug to realise that Ducky had already eased him out of his NCIS jacket, and was wanting to remove his t-shirt, so he helped by easing his left arm out, and pulling the garment over his head. Ducky slid the shirt down his right arm, trying not to move it too much, and then spoiled all that gentleness by beginning to probe all round the agent's chest and right side.

Tony held his peace, but his eyes watered with the effort of fighting the pain; he felt embarrassed that he was sitting there shirtless and everyone could see from the ragged breathing that he wasn't in control of the situation. Perched on the wrecked office chair, with nowhere to rest his head, he was beginning to feel wretched, and he had a case to run. Ducky frowned to himself, and rummaged in his bag again.

"Now, Anthony… you have indeed broken two ribs, and they'll have to be taped. When that's done you'll feel much more the thing, I promise you." He looked hard at the Senior Agent and said severely, "I do not wish to prevent you from doing your job, but you_ will _go to hospital when all this is over, and be checked out thoroughly. And if there's so much as a hint of your lungs being compromised, Anthony, you _must _hand the case back to Gibbs.

"Understood, Ducky." McGee couldn't suppress a gasp at the docility of Tony's reply, which resulted in both mens' eyes swinging towards him.

"You as well, Timothy," Ducky added. "Do you _want _me to discover a hairline fracture of your tibia?" He produced a plastic pot with a safety cap, extracted two tablets, and handed them to Tony. "Take these, my boy, you've used them before; although they're strong, they don't have the, ah, unfortunate side effects that some other pain-killers have on you…" Tony meekly swallowed them; he knew Ducky wasn't fooled for a moment by his acquiescence, he'd watch him like a hawk, but nothing mattered except being able to carry on.

"Now, I need you to hold your arm up away from your body so that I can apply the tape," Ducky continued, and a look akin to panic crossed Tony's face. He manfully tried to raise his arm in the air, but all that happened was that he went paler, and beads of perspiration appeared on his upper lip. Tim observed it, and said, "I'll come and hold it up for you if you like."

"You will _not_, Timothy. Not until the pain-killers I gave you take proper effect."

Ziva seemed as if she might say something, but in the end, didn't.

"Hell, I'll do it," a voice growled from the doorway, and Gibbs strode across the room. "And someone can tell me what the devil's going on. No, not you, DiNozzo."

Voices seemed to drift over Tony's head, as Ducky stretched a long strip of tape from his spine, round his side covering the latissimus muscle, and across his chest as far as his sternum. Another strip below, and one above, and Tony thought glumly as his nipple and a sizeable amount of chest hair disappeared under the sticky pink straightjacket, that getting it off again was going to be torture. Dr. Mallard read his mind.

"Don't worry, dear boy," he said in a voice that was far too cheerful for Tony's liking, "when the time comes I'll give you something to dissolve the gum, and you can soak it off in the shower. But I won't give it to you a moment before the proper time, so don't ask."

Ziva ran her eyes over her partner's torso, and said brightly, "Or you can just ask me, and I'll be happy to remove it for you." She didn't know whether to feel gratified or guilty at the sick look Tony gave her.

"Hey!" Gibbs said sharply, standing behind his Senior Field Agent so that he could put his head back and rest it for a brief moment, "We're talking about the _case,_ here." (Teasing was one thing, taking the piss out of an injured team mate was entirely different. Gibbs was sure that there was no malice there, but he had the feeling that Ziva couldn't see the state Tony was in because she was refusing to _see_ him at all.)

Other than the broken chair, and one trestle, there was nowhere to sit, so they sat on the floor and continued to discuss what they knew. "So the killer thinks we found something on Burns' body, and wants it," Gibbs said. "We didn't, and we don't know what it is." He looked at Tony, assessing him. The pain-killers had kicked in, and the short rest sitting there on the floor had helped. The SFA looked a bit better. "So, DiNozzo, what now?"

"Balboa's team should be done with collecting statements soon; I'll ask them to process this crime scene, we might be lucky and catch a print, the Yeti wasn't wearing gloves, I remember that; while we look at anyone we can't immediately rule out. McGee, we need to know what's retrievable."

"I printed copies of all the background information. The Yeti doesn't seem to have destroyed any of the paperwork, so that's all here. I'll get Agent Balboa's team to take the surveillance tapes and see if they can come up with anything."

"We have to be on our guard," Tony said. "If the Yeti thinks we've got this mystery object, he's going to try again. McGee, warn Balboa's team when you talk to them. Tell them to stay close when they're looking at those tapes…." His voice trailed off as his forehead furrowed in thought.

Gibbs said, gently for him, "What?"

Tony said, "McGentleman, when we were, I quote, 'drinking coffee with the rich and famous', who else was there? Apart from the four of us and Burns?"

"Quinton Fairchild… Josh and Anne-Marie took him… A couple of dancers, Eddie Salvatore, didn't like Burns, remember? The general manager was there…" Tim paused, thinking back. The others saw the light bulb above his head the moment it switched on. "Salvatore was wearing a dark suit, wasn't he?"

"He was… and when Palmer brought the gurney down…"

"He was there, and he was wearing jeans and a light blue shirt!" Ziva said.

"He's not very tall," Tim added.

Tony rubbed the bruise on the side of his head. "I wasn't sure if I remembered that right… nice work, guys!"

"Of course there could be some perfectly good reason why he changed," Ziva said warningly, but Tony was already jumping to his feet, far more quickly than he should have done. He staggered slightly, and Gibbs steadied him.

"Will you _ever___learn?"

Tony looked both sheepish and fired up at the same time. But apologising was a sign of weakness, so he just smiled. "McGee, Ziva, stay together, get Balboa's team down here to get any evidence they can, then join us. Ducky, come with us, I don't want you left alone anywhere. We'll pay Mr. Salvatore a visit."

Gibbs caught Tony's arm as they headed up the corridor. Ducky went a little ahead, to stay in sight, but read correctly that Gibbs wanted a quiet word with his SFA.

"Boss?"

"You up for this, DiNozzo? Truth."

"Sure, Boss. I took the pain-killers. I'm good." A look of horror flitted across his face, and was suppressed. "Do you want to take over the lead? I mean, I thought just now, when you asked _me _what now…"

"Hey! Your lead. I don't want to take it back." Gibbs pointed to the small bloodstain on the younger man's t-shirt, and said more gently, "Tony, just don't put me in the position of having to."

Tony zipped his jacket up positively. "Understood, Boss. Hey, you were right about me changing out of that sweater." Gibbs shook his head ruefully, and gestured for Tony to lead on.

"Don't be too hard on him, Jethro," Ducky said as they caught up. "He isn't the only one who doesn't know his own limitations." Gibbs growled something unintelligible in reply. Tony, walking behind him, whispered "Ho ho ho" for his ears only, got a ratty glare thrown over Gibbs' shoulder for his pains, and returned it with a broad, affectionate smile.

His boss turned back to look where he was going, so that Tony didn't see the look on his face; a tiny, touched smile that crept up to his mouth from a grumpy, but strangely warmed heart.

They had almost reached the dressing room area, when a voice called, urgently, "Tony!" They turned to see Josh and Anne-Marie hurrying towards them, looking anxious. They nodded a brief greeting to the others, and Anne-Marie said, "We found something."

Josh added, "We didn't touch it." They were both very tense.

"OK," Tony said soothingly, "Tell us about it."

"We'll show you," Josh said. He led them down past the dressing rooms to a fire-door at the far end of the corridor. "This is a longer way round, and it's not used so often," the young man said as he went. "We've found out a lot about backstage in the last week, 'cuz if anyone wants something, they send us rather than find a stagehand." They hurried down another passage, just as narrow as the first, and saw a staircase ahead. "Down there leads to the props and costumes areas," Josh said. "You can get out to the stage, and to front of house, but if you go up, it's where they store lighting, and sound equipment, and cable and all that sort of thing."

He paused for breath. "Sir Q had brought – "

"_Sir Q?"_ from Gibbs.

"Yes," Anne-Marie said. "He said just call him Q, everybody does, but we sort of hit on Sir Q because we like him. Anyway, he brought this old make-up mirror with him, and some of the bulbs had blown, and we knew where to get new ones, so we came along here. Now, you have to keep to the other side of the corridor, because when we got to _here_, I felt my foot slip." The two youngsters both pointed at the floor; there was a smeared blood drop.

Josh pointed back the way they'd come. "There are none down there that we could see," he told them, "and we were careful. We didn't want to destroy any evidence. But we followed a trail, although we didn't know which direction it led."

"This way," Gibbs said pointing to more drops ahead. "The tails on the drops go in the direction of travel." They all cautiously followed the trail of small drops, up the stairs to the lighting store.

"We'd forgotten about Sir Q's light bulbs by the time we got to here," Josh said, "to be honest, we were a bit scared. We saw _that_," he said, pointing to the floor underneath a shelving rack. There was only about six inches clearance, and it was difficult to see, so Tony reached in his back pocket for some rubber gloves as he stepped closer. Gibbs plucked them smoothly out of his hand. Tony looked mildly astonished, but Gibbs wagged his finger.

"I thought we'd agreed you'd be careful? Stay on your feet." Tony pulled a wry face, the two young people looked puzzled. "He's got broken ribs," Gibbs explained tersely, "and he won't behave."

Tony screwed his eyes up in embarrassment. "Aw, Boss…" He put one hand on Josh's shoulder and the other on Anne-Marie's, and his face down close to theirs. "Josh, you will_ not _tell your Mom, OK? And most particularly, _you will not tell Nadia!_ Get it? Please?"

The young couple would have giggled if Gibbs, down on the floor, hadn't said suddenly, "Nice work, guys!" They all turned to look; everyone bent down except Tony. After taking a few photos with his cell phone, Gibbs pulled out a dark blue suit jacket, wrapped in a towel; both were blood soaked. The smell of blood going off wrinkled their noses. Gibbs said, "Do they store refuse bags up here?"

"Sure do." Josh ran off, and came back a moment later with a roll. Gibbs broke the seal, and took a bag from inside the roll, discarding the first one, and placed the items inside. Nobody spoke, but everyone seemed to let out a long held breath. As they went back down the passage, Tony took photos of the blood trail. When they went back through the fire-door, they found McGee and Ziva waiting. They looked at the bag that Gibbs carried, with raised eyebrows.

"I'll explain in a minute," Tony said urgently. "Anne-Marie, I want you to go with McGee, and show him the other way round to the staircase we just used. McGee, you need to block the entrance to the staircase going up to the store, and the other end of that corridor." He pointed to the fire-door. "Be careful, Tim. Then come back here and put Anne-Marie and Sir Quinton and Miss van Hoorn in with the Landy band, and guard the door."

"Mik's already in there," Josh said. "We think she and Randy like each other." Nobody had anything to say to that.

Tony drew his Sig, and held it two handed, pointing at the ground. Josh's eyes widened; it was the first time he had seen his friend with his gun in his hand. "Josh," the agent went on, "you did good. But now you have to get out of here. Go in and keep Sir Q company until McGee comes back; until then, don't come out, don't let him come out, OK?"

Josh looked as if he'd have given his back teeth to stay, but he nodded, and tapped on Sir Q's door, then went in, and closed it. Gibbs handed the vidence bag to Ducky, and he and Ziva drew their weapons. "Ducky, stay back," Tony said. He banged on Eddie Salvatore's door, but there was no answer. "Eddie! NCIS!" He paused. "OK, we're coming in!" He pushed the door; he went high and Gibbs went low, Ziva eased in on the opposite side, but nothing moved inside the room. Least of all Eddie.

At first, they thought that the stiff body of the singer was lying face up, until they saw the hip pockets of his jeans, flapping where they'd been almost ripped off. The fact that the sightless eyes were looking at them was simply because the crooner's head had been twisted so far in the act of snapping his neck, that his chin was facing over his shoulder; his head was on back to front. It seemed as if the Yeti had struck again.

**AN Yecch! Please review??**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Not much action this chapter – some introspection, lots of detective work! **

Deck The Hall

Chapter 7

For a moment the team, experienced as they were, stood stock still, taking in the unpleasant sight before them. The entire room was trashed, but the horribly disjointed body drew the most attention. The crooner's corpse, looking back at them over its left shoulder, had a jagged tear in the opposite side of the neck, which at first looked as if the throat had been cut; but as they looked closer they realised that the skin had simply been ripped open, unable to withstand the sudden, brutal wrenching. A couple of spearheading flies had already found the blood.

Tony let out his breath in a long hiss. "I should have got us moving sooner," he said flatly. "I could have prevented this."

Gibbs shot him a penetrating glance; well aware of his SFA's insecurities, but before he could say anything, Ducky said, "Wait," in a voice that brooked no argument. He moved purposefully into the room, set the evidence bag down, and moved to the body. "I beg to disagree, Anthony," he said after a few minutes. "Rigor mortis is already set in the small muscles, and the larger ones are following suit. I think the liver probe will merely confirm that Mr. Salvatore has been dead almost as long as Captain Burns. I think we will find that he was attacked before you were. Perhaps only a short time after he followed the gurney as Mr. Palmer and I brought it in. And judging by the ferocity of this attack," the ME went on soberly, looking Tony hard in the eyes, "we must give thanks that you and Timothy are still alive."

Tony nodded slowly, and Gibbs flashed Ducky a grateful look, glad that that particular line of thought had been stopped before it started. Nine years of working with Tony, and he still hadn't been able to mend all the damage in the younger man's soul, not that he wouldn't keep trying; hell, he'd still not found out, at least not for certain, what the damage was. He'd keep trying with that, too.

They were all silent for a moment, then Ziva observed, "It would seem that the room was searched after the murder, judging by the debris that has landed on the corpse. So I wonder if the Yeti did not find what he was looking for _here_, and it was at that point that he thought we might have found it, on the body of Captain Burns?" She snapped the fingers of her rubber gloves as she donned a fresh pair. "Why would Eddie Salvatore and Russell Burns be connected?"

"They knew each other from some other time," Tony said, "judging by Salvatore's reaction when he first saw that Burns was here. Some sort of dodgy history." He thought for a moment. "There'll be something in those background files that McGee made," he said positively. "They're still with Balboa's guys down at the original crime scene. I'll go and get them. If you start processing this scene –"

"Our equipment's all down there too," Ziva said, "Half of it thrown round the room! We may have to improvise."

"We may, but I'm putting my faith in McGee," the SFA said.

"That's nice, Tony," Tim said from the doorway. He had a large evidence kit under each arm, which he set down with a huff. "These are the last two from the truck, so we don't need any more crime scenes!"

"Well McAnticipated," DiNozzo told him. Tim rolled his eyes. He seemed to have done a lot of that lately.

"I left Anne-Marie with the DT," Tim added. "She said she wouldn't say anything, but they know something's up, and the general manager's starting to panic too."

"I'll take Josh back with me and talk to them. I'll talk to Sir Q, see if he heard anything. I think he's safe from the likelihood of attack, but if he wants company, I'll suggest he goes and sits with the Landys. I reckon they're safe too, and Miss van Hoorn, but I'm not so sure about the Burns band. McGee, how did you block the staircase?"

"Believe it or not, there's a door that locks! The general manager saw to it, and gave me the key. Nobody can come at us from that way. There are no other ways into the storage area… I double checked," he said before anyone could give him the never assume speech. "I don't know if there's any point in putting a guard on this corridor, though. Rehearsals are still going on like nothing's happened, and the musicians will have to get in and out. One good thing – the orchestra that's going to accompany Mik, and the dancers, and _was_ going to accompany Eddie, doesn't arrive until tomorrow. The GM wanted to know if he should cancel them, Nadia went ballistic."

Tony grimaced. "I'll talk to her, and get those files, and be back right away. Stick together. Watch your backs."

"And who's going to watch yours, DiNozzo?" Gibbs' bark stopped Tony in the doorway. He was about to say "I'll be fine", when he recalled what the Boss had said about taking the case back. 'Don't put me in the position of having to', he remembered. However gruffly delivered, it wasn't a 'do as I say or I'll take your sweeties away' thing, it was, and Tony almost shook visibly at the notion, a 'don't go and get hurt again, son'. Sometimes it took his breath away that someone was prepared to care about him like that. He nodded, and gave the older man a slight smile. "OK," he conceded, "McGuardian, with me." They stepped out, and Tony drew the door shut behind them.

For a while, the three left in the room went about their work in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. Ziva had seen how the odd note in Gibbs' voice had stopped Tony in his tracks, and the look that had passed between them, understated as it had been. The Boss had somehow become softer in his dealings with her, at least on a person to person basis, since their return from Africa, and she thought that maybe because of this she was beginning to understand his relationship with Tony a bit more. The childless father and the unloved orphan child had adopted each other… that was why he'd been sharp with her – nobody messed with Gibbs' _son._

So why _had_ she spoken to him the way she did? Ziva sighed, deep inside herself, but didn't allow it to come anywhere near the surface. She knew why. Watching him sitting there without his shirt, muscular, fit; pale faced and hurting, she didn't know whether she wanted to nurse him or jump his bones. She had never forgotten what he had said to her in that hole in Somalia; (he thought she had if she did but know it,) and she didn't _want _him to have such feelings. Feelings like that needed addressing; dealing with, and she didn't want to face them let alone _deal_ with them. So she settled for leering and making an unkind joke, which didn't help either of them.

She frowned, and silently chastised herself. This was not the time to be having such thoughts. She had two murders to concentrate on. It was a very good way to avoid the issue, she thought cynically. Her eyes fell on something large and dark under the dressing table, and she bent to retrieve it. It was a pair of navy blue trousers, and as Gibbs looked up to see what Ziva had found, he stiffened. Before he could say anything, however, Ducky, still bent over the corpse, tutted softly.

"My word," he said, "They don't usually make things this easy, do they?" The other two looked enquiringly at him, as he clearly had more to say. "Although he has attempted to wash it off, Mr. Salvatore has blood residue on various parts of him, that most likely did not come from his own injury. Under his nails, and in the hair on the backs of his hands, and also under his chin. You will see that his own blood has run away from that direction. I've taken swabs for Abigail, and I feel it's likely that they will have Captain Burns' DNA. I was thinking, you see, that we would need to prove that our friend here had indeed committed the one murder before falling victim to the second…"

"There is a small amount of blood on these trousers, too," Ziva said, and both men took a closer look.

"These are the trousers to the suit he was wearing," Gibbs said thoughtfully.

Ducky added, pointing to the improvised evidence bag, "Why did he hide the jacket and not the trousers?"

"How about this?" Gibbs theorised. "The jacket was too bloody to disguise; he had to dispose of it somehow, and he had to move fast. Even when he wrapped it in a towel, the blood soaked through, and after a while it began to drip. That's why Anne-Marie didn't step on a drop until half way down the passage. The trousers he could change when he'd hidden the jacket. He washed, well enough to hide the evidence, but not well enough to fool Ducky. I haven't any explanation yet as to why after he changed clothes, he went back down with the rubberneckers –"

"Perhaps morbid curiosity", Ducky offered.

"Perhaps to see if there had been any developments, especially ones that might lead to _him_." Ziva added. "If Ducky's time line is correct –"

The ME nodded. "Liver temperature would seem to confirm it," he assured them.

"Then he came back here at once, and was attacked immediately." She showed them the pockets of the trousers, pulled inside out, and waved her hand at the damage to the room. "We know that the killer did not find what he was looking for, which was why he then went and attacked Tony. Why did he not kill Tony? Er… no, I mean why was Tony not killed since Salvatore was? Tony said that he thought the Yeti was callous and didn't care one way or the other."

Gibbs said, "It was personal. The killer had a history with Salvatore just as Salvatore did with Burns. Maybe they were all in something together."

Ziva added, "I believe Tony's hunch may be right – something will turn up in the background information that will show a link. Tony also feels that it has something to do with the band… he doesn't think they're completely safe. Do you think one of them has what the Yeti is looking for?"

"Yes… maybe… _no!_" Gibbs said suddenly. "There's another reason the killer didn't find it – what _wasn't_ in the room when he searched it?"

"The jacket!" The shout came from both Ducky and Ziva at once.

There was an air of anticipation almost like Christmas Morning as Gibbs carefully opened the bag. He spread the towel out on the plastic, and they studied the jacket. It had been folded along its length, with the blood soaked woollen fabric put to the inside. There was a lump in the right hand pocket, and they hardly breathed as Gibbs reached in. It was a small plastic bag, containing wood shavings and a Swiss Army knife.

"Hmm…" Ducky said. "Well it would appear that he was at least trying to make life difficult for us. But it surely can't be what the murderer was seeking."

Gibbs gave a rather wolfish smile, checked the other pocket, and finding it empty, turned his attention to the inside of the garment. The blood was soaking through to the sky blue silk lining, but it had not yet reached the neat inside pocket. Very carefully, Gibbs slipped his hand in, and extracted a shiny black and silver USB. The smile was back as he reached for his cell phone.

* * *

Tony was having a trying time of it. He'd rather be processing crime scenes than having to sooth frantic administrators. The general manager felt as if he should close the DAR Hall down before anyone else got killed. Tony knew that since the killer was most certainly here, he'd be easier to find than if everyone scattered. However, he didn't think that was what the poor guy wanted to hear; so he simply told him that they were very close to an arrest, and to just give them a little more time. The general manager, having just been rescued by Tony and Tim from a Nadia who was about to burst into flames, felt obliged to agree.

Nadia simply demanded that he _do_ something, and when he tried the charm that usually worked, she swore at him in Romanian and pushed him away, with a huge shove to the chest. There was a lot of power in that fun sized body, and pain-killers or not, he had to fight the urge to yelp pathetically. He settled for swearing back in voluble Italian, which so surprised Nadia that she calmed down.

Selina wanted to know if it would be callous to look for a replacement for Eddie Salvatore, and Tony absolutely didn't have an answer to that. He looked beseechingly at Tim, who thought for a moment and then said profoundly, "Well, you know, Ms Hawksworth, the show must go on." Selina beamed, told Tim he was wonderful, and bustled away.

"Very smart, McWonderful," Tony griped sourly. "What's she going to say when she realises you didn't say 'with or without a replacement'?"

"Hell," McGee said cheerfully, "If you can have a fan club, you can't grudge me one."

Gillian drew them to one side, to simply whisper, "Is my son safe?" Tony nodded across to Josh, who stood with his arm protectively round his girlfriend, and they came over.

"Josh," Tony said, "you and Anne-Marie, look after your Mom, OK? Stay close."

McGee saw the two agents borrowed from Balboa's team coming up from the costume store at that moment, one with a crate of smashed electronics, the other with a crate of evidence bags, with a couple of file boxes balanced on top. At last; Tim was beginning to forget what being an investigator felt like.

"Hey, Tim, here are your files," Lottie Jones said, and McGee hurried to take them.

"Abs-oh-bloody-lutely nothing on the tapes. We got a few fingerprints, overlaid, going to be a mess to sort out, I'm afraid," Simon Squires said regretfully. "A trace of blood – did either of you bleed at the scene?"

"A little," Tim said grumpily, touching his cheek.

"Never mind," Simon said blithely. "Either it's yours, or we can put Eddie's killer at the scene, since we know Eddie never got further than the corridor. We'll take what we got back to Abby, along with these poor corpses. She's going to be in mourning for a week. That's if you're done with us?"

"Hey, we owe you," Tony said.

"Nah," Simon said, as blithe as ever. "You were on down time. _We're_ on overtime. Watch your backs!" They swept out.

Tim stepped close enough to his SFA to whisper, "Why didn't you mention the jacket to Si? Shouldn't that go back to Abby?"

"Yeah, it should, but I didn't want anyone to see them walking through the building with it. I don't know why… I think I just got a case of Gibbs-Gut. I don't want our friend to know it's been found."

Tim nodded thoughtfully, and was about to open one of the boxes to see what state his files were in, when Tony's phone buzzed. Gibbs.

"DiNozzo! Is McGee with you? You need to get back here as soon as you can, tell him to get a laptop from somewhere. We've found your mystery object!"

**AN: I'm really nervous about this detecting lark. Someone's going to message me and say I've forgotten something… I'm getting paranoid, I need more coffee….**


	8. Chapter 8

**Yep, Azamiko spotted something. Oops – I'm kind of getting to depend on her….**

Deck The Hall

Chapter 8

They scrounged a laptop from Petra the box office girl, and then drew their guns as soon as they were out of the public view.

As they hurried through the backstage maze, Tim said warily, "I've got another 'why' question."

Tony stopped, quickly scanning the area for possible attack routes, and said, "Yeah?" Tim hesitated. "Relax, McWhy… I'm too busy to bite."

"Why didn't you tell Si and Lottie about the second murder? I'm sure they would have stayed to help."

"Yeah, I guess they would. But I wanted them out of here."

He set off up the corridor again as Tim spoke. "_Out_ of here?"

"Tim," _(Oh-oh, serious,_ McGee thought,) "NCIS is a target now. It's two less to have to worry about. Si Squires is a good agent. So is Lottie. But I'm so tired of having people die on me. It's hard enough having to look out for my own team, without worrying about getting someone from another team killed. They might be mad at me when they find out. But I'd rather mad than hurt. Or dead."

"Fair enough," Tim said, and was silent until they reached Eddie Salvatore's dressing room again.

As they passed the Green Room, they could hear the band playing. "On with the show," Tony muttered. There was music coming from the Landy band's room as well, but very muted. With a quick glance round, he opened the door, gun still at the ready, and glanced inside. Good – no-one else attacked… he pushed McGee inside and dived in himself, closing the door quickly.

Gibbs, Ziva and Ducky were huddled in one corner – even seasoned agents didn't want to be too close to the horror in the middle of the room. Gibbs held up the USB without a word.

"Nice work, Boss. Who found it?"

"We all did."

"Where?"

"The jacket."

"Hey," Tony said delightedly. "That's why the Yeti didn't find it."

"Yeah, DiNozzo," Gibbs said pithily, "That's why you and McGee got beaten up."

"Worth it," Tony said, without sarcasm.

Tim had already set up the laptop, and Ziva looked thoughtful. "Why did we not find a laptop? Would he not have brought one on which to display the information? Is it possible that the killer took it?"

"Good point," Gibbs said. "Maybe he didn't bring one because he doesn't _need _to display it. Maybe he knows it off by heart. Or, the Yeti took it."

Tim plugged the bus into the machine. They all crowded round, and studied what came up, and after a few minutes realised that they were none the wiser. Finally, Tim said, "Why would Eddie be carrying around a list of places where warships went? More than ten years ago?"

Tony said slowly, "Boss, there's one of those coincidences that you don't believe in."

He looked strangely uneasy, and Gibbs chivvied him with unusual patience, "Ya going to explain, then?"

"The first name on the list – the Kearsarge… and the year. 1995. That's when Nadia and her companions were rescued, and that's the ship that rescued them." He looked shaken, and shook his head with a frown. "Boss… she can't be involved in this… surely?"

"I guess we're going to have to find out, Tony." There it was; the first name. The SFA's heart sank. If Gibbs was being that careful with him, he thought there was a problem. Gibbs did _not_ believe in serendipity, let alone coincidences. Tony wrapped his hand round his aching side, under the guise of folding his arms, and thought for a while.

"O-kay… McFerret, see what you can ferret out from all this. Can you get the net on that thing? Good. Boss, go with the written information, see if anything ties in anywhere. Ducky, I know you'd like to get our twisted friend here back to your own domain, but I really would prefer us to stick together for now."

"I'll help Jethro," Ducky said obligingly. "There is the matter of getting the forensic evidence to Abigail of course, but _you _believe the answer is here, do you not?"

Tony was aware of Gibbs studying him, but he made no adverse comment. He valued the Boss's opinion, it went without saying, but he was pretty certain of the validity of his hunch. Nice that Gibbs at least didn't _dis_agree. "Yeah, Ducky, I do. Could you look over the list of people without alibis? It took a long time to make, and I'm wondering if it'll actually be of any use."

Ducky held out two tablets and looked Tony straight in the eye. The tall agent took them without a word and dry-swallowed them. Ducky smiled approvingly. "I'll do that, Anthony." He sighed. "You're worried that if no-one seems relevant, many alibis will turn out to be useless."

"And our suspect list will get larger again. Don't even want to think about it, Ducky!"

"Tony, what shall _I_ do?" There was an odd note of diffidence in Ziva's voice; she had hardly exchanged a dozen words with him since Gibbs' reproof, and she was waiting for Tony to get one back at her. He heard the note of apology, and had difficulty remembering what it was about. Oh, _that_. He hadn't the surplus energy to think of payback; or, he was surprised to find, even the inclination. Normally, an opportunity to tease was meat and drink to him.

"Well, Proberella," he said cheerfully, "I guess you're with me."

"Where are you going?" Gibbs asked.

"Only across the corridor," Tony told him. "We're going to talk to the Burns band. We'll call in on the Landys, although I don't really think there's anything new to learn there?" He ended on a questioning note, and raised an eyebrow at the team, to see if they could come up with anything. Good, Gibbs thought, he's not too proud to ask. There were no takers, however.

"Not Nadia?"

"Not until we know more, Boss. Won't be long."

They left the room cautiously, and moved diagonally across the corridor to the Landy Band's room, and almost stopped in the doorway in surprise. Ziva recollected herself in time to close the door behind them, and then they simply stood and listened to the fascinating sound of a heavy rock band and a diva jamming together.

They were playing and singing very quietly, as if embarrassed that anyone might hear them; what they were singing was, of all things, a Christmas carol. It was 'It Came Upon The Midnight Clear', and they had reached the verse that was the crux of the whole poem.

"_Yet with the woes of sin and strife, the world has suffered long._

_Beneath the angel strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong."_

The angelic voice of the Dutchwoman blended astonishingly well with the softened tones of the tall rocker, who sat close to her, with an almost mesmerised expression, as if he couldn't quite believe he was doing this. The rest of the band looked entirely at peace with what they were doing. They were the Randy Landy Band, after all, they could play what they liked.

"_And man, at war with man hears not the love song which they bring,"_

Tony and Ziva both thought of the twisted corpse they had just been sharing a room with, and glanced at each other, reflecting that war came on small, individual levels as well as global ones.

"_O hush the noise, ye men of strife, and hear the angels sing."_

Ziva thought of her homeland; Tony thought back to finding Gibbs after Pinin Pula's bomb, and were unaware of the bleakness on their faces, until Mik van Hoorn said anxiously, "Tony, what is it?"

Tony shook himself. "Oh sorry, Mik… it's nothing… that was just something special to hear, you know? But it made me think uncomfortable thoughts. Hey, guys, don't let it stop you doing it, though!"

"No," Ziva agreed. "It _was_ special, as Tony says. Are you planning to use it in the concert?"

They all looked really surprised. "No," Randy said. "We were just passing the time. We've spent a lot of time sitting in here feeling tense," he added wryly. "It made us feel better."

"Well…" Tony hesitated to tell him they had things under control, "I don't want to swear that you won't be here much longer, but I don't _think_ you will be, and I do think you're not in any danger. As long as you all stick together. Where's Sir Q, by the way?"

They all laughed. June did a perfect impression of the great man. "'I wouldn't give offence for the world, my dears, but really, I'm an old fellow. I relate to the music of the big bands… the swing era… the good old days, I do believe. Don't you think I'd be best to go next door, and leave you young people to do what you do so well?' He's gone to listen to the Burns band. And no, we weren't offended."

"He's fun," Zeke added, "but he ain't no rocker. Oh, and we watched him go in there. Nobody stole him or anything."

The two agents smiled. "Be patient," Ziva said. "And I really think you should sing more carols. It was lovely to listen to." She raised her gun and slowly opened the door, and they slipped out into the corridor.

They just as cautiously opened the next door. "Oops, wrong door," Tony said. "I forgot about this place." It wasn't the Green Room, but a smallish store where some music stands and orchestra chairs were kept, including the tall stools used by double bass players.

"Ah, yes," Ziva said. "This must be where they sent the unfortunate noisy drummer to practise." Strewn about on the floor were the padded, fitted cases for an expensive drum kit, including a couple of solid cases with reinforced corners; Tony wondered again how musicians coped in such cramped spaces. They realised the drummer must have taken his set back to join the band. They quietly let themselves into the Green Room, and once again stood listening to the music, until Alan Hagen, who was conducting from the piano, saw them, and brought the music to a close.

Tony hadn't spoken to any of the band since the hasty trip round that he'd made just after the first murder, to check that people were OK, and was surprised that he remembered his name.

"Special Agent DiNozzo, what can we do for you?" His eyes lingered on Ziva in a way that irked Tony, and made him think that maybe Russell Burns' attitude to women might not have been the only reason why female musicians didn't stay with the band for very long.

"This is Special Agent David," he said, deliberately not giving her first name. "We'd like to talk to you about Burns, and this 'windfall' you mentioned."

"Sure," the pianist said, gesturing towards some chairs. As they walked over, he shouted across the room, "Q, d'you fancy another try?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, dear heart," Sir Quinton said, and went eagerly to the conductor's desk. Hagen followed their surprised glances, as the band started up again.

"Oh, yes," he said. "he's actually quite good, believe it or not. Y'see, we don't really need that much of a conductor for the performances, the secret is in good rehearsing, and we've done that. But a figurehead is good. Not that Russell Burns was, you understand… he trained us well, so we _can_ carry on with the performance. But we're thinking of asking Sir Q to guest conduct the one they're playing now."

"What about carrying on afterwards?" Tony asked.

"Well, I'm guessing you heard Russell was going to retire from the Navy shortly?"

"Yes," Ziva answered. "As we understood it the Naval personnel would have left, and it would have become a civilian band?"

"That was what he _said_, but I always had the feeling that he intended to disband the set-up if he got this 'windfall' that he talked about. Which is why I hung around. The way I figured it, I could either talk him into a slice as a loyalty reward, or something – even a bastard can appreciate eighteen years service; _or,_ I could take over the band, put in for retirement myself, and reap the rewards that way."

"That could be taken as motive," Ziva said, and Hagen stopped looking at her appreciatively. He bristled.

"Sure it could," he said flatly. "But I didn't kill him. I was with the guys all the time. And after all that," he grinned, "it worked out just fine for me. The band is seventy percent service personnel, and everyone wants to stay together. I've already talked to a lot of important people, and the band's mine now. We'll bring in another pianist, and carry on. Screw the mythical windfall – I've got what I want."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough. So, what did he have to say about this windfall, then?" There was a loud crash as the drummer went into his solo; they glanced over to see he was using the type of aluminium sticks that Tony had described that morning.

They waited until things got quieter, and Alan Hagen went on, "I've no clear idea. It was a hell of a lot of money as I understood it, but where he was going to get it from, he wouldn't say. He spoke of taking the band on a farewell tour of all the ships we'd played on, which is odd; he never gave the slightest hint of being sentimental. Then he said he was going to buy a horse ranch in Colorado or Montana, and never, I quote, wave another goddam baton. And that, Agent DiNozzo, really is as much as I know."

They thanked him, and listened to the band for a while longer, as he went back to his baby Kawai. The drummer, observing Tony's eyes on him, gave him a huge grin, and tossed his sticks up into the air, as if to say, "Look, not wood!" Tony grinned back, but his mind was largely on what the pianist had told him, as his phone buzzed. He flipped it. Gibbs.

**AN: Only a few more clues now, and I'm hoping you can solve the case yourselves. Email Tony with the answers! **


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Don't tell me off about what Tim does with the computer. He's a genius. I'm a nerd.**

Deck The Hall

Chapter 9

It wasn't easy working from one lap-top and a pile of papers. Studying the list, which was chronological, Tim wondered if the first date was the most significant, or if it simply began a time period to go hunting in. He opted to go for the first idea, since the rescue of Nadia and her friends on the same day was simply too much of a coincidence. He decided to examine the entry more closely.

After ten minutes or so of fiddling, he was asked for a password; another ten minutes and he'd wormed his way round it. The password was romangold, which puzzled him, as the list was the same as before; in the left hand column, the whereabouts of various US warships in1995 and 1996. This column was headed up 'On the Ship?' The right hand column was much more detailed, however, giving the ports of call, with the exact dates of the ships visits right down to the hour of arrival and departure. The name of every member of the Russell Burns Band at the time was listed, together with venues on shore, and Tim realised that what had singled out these particular ships and dates was the presence on board of the band. The column was headed up 'On Shore?'

He called Gibbs over and showed him what he'd found. "Romangold?" the boss mused.

"Yes, I wondered. Do we take that word gold literally? Is it too big a leap to think of Russell Burns' windfall? And what would Eddie Salvatore know of it?"

"Any theory's better than none," Gibbs grunted. "We prove it or we shoot it down. Nice work, McGee. If it's wrong, it might lead to what's r…" His voice tailed off thoughtfully, and he dived across suddenly to grab the pile of papers. His reading glasses almost fell off the end of his nose. He ran his eyes down one particular sheet. "McGee… Navy Lists. Find out if a seaman called Ed Salter was on the Kearsarge at any of those times."

Ducky, who had, with silent apologies to the Daughters of the American Revolution, taken down the curtain from the window and used it to cover the body, walked carefully round it to look at the paper Gibbs was holding. "Ah! So in 1995, our friend still went by that name, but clearly adopted something a little more grand for his singing career."

"All it says is he was in the Navy, but DiNozzo and his coincidences –"

Gibbs broke off as Tim said triumphantly, "I've got it, Boss. Ed Salter was 19 years old, a seaman apprentice, he was on the Kearsarge, _singing with the Burns band!_ Bad conduct discharge early 1996, petty theft from shipmates."

The senior agent reached for his phone. "DiNozzo! We need to talk to Nadia. No, not particularly, but she's the only one we know who was there. No, you're right, we can't bring her down here. Back of the foyer, by the coffee machine. We'll meet you."

Gibbs took the key from the back of the door as they moved into the corridor, he locked up and pocketed it and they hurried away. They could hear the Landys still practising, but the Green Room was silent, as the Burns band was on its way down to the stage.

* * *

Tony was dancing about with impatience when they met up with him; Nadia just looked anxious. Ducky sat her down while Gibbs drew his SFA aside. "What's the matter, DiNozzo?"

"I don't want to be away from the band for too long, Boss. I need to watch."

"Send McGee and Ziva, then. You need to hear this." Tony went to speak briefly with his colleagues, then hurried back as Ziva strode and Tim limped away. Gibbs filled him in on what they'd found out, and Tony furrowed his brow.

"This windfall might not be so mythical as Hagen was beginning to think. If it is, Eddie didn't think so, and he was on the ship. The Yeti doesn't think so, he's trying to find it. 'Romangold'… real gold…?" His eyes widened. "_Romanian _gold?" He shook his head. "It's too far-fetched."

"I agree. Who'd have any after Ceaucescu?" Gibbs was flippant, and Tony knew he was being led.

"Unless they'd been hiding it…" He looked over his shoulder uncomfortably at Nadia, who fortunately was talking to Ducky, and didn't notice. "Boss, it's not her. She couldn't…"

"Have broken your ribs. I know. But Tony, we've still got to talk to her."

"OK… let me do it."

The ghost of a smile. _A __**proud**__ smile? Am I imagining it??_ "Your case, DiNozzo."

Tony almost tingled as they went back to the seats by the coffee machine. His ribs didn't hurt so much. He actually managed to smile at Nadia.

"Gotta bit of a surprise for you, darlin'," he told her, dropping into the cheery familiarity they always used to make her feel at ease. It didn't particularly, she just widened her eyes and waited for him to go on. "We're pretty certain that all this has something to do with you."

You could not have faked the reaction. The tiny Romanian woman's jaw dropped, the colour fled from her face, and she squeaked "Me?" in a voice of utter shock. Tony knew that both Gibbs and Ducky were watching for any sign of dissembling, and a tiny, flicked glance told him that they saw none.

He went on gently, "Well, not you personally, but Nadia, I need you to tell me everything you can remember about when you were rescued by Will and the Kearsarge."

Nadia found her voice. "Ach, Tony, this is crazy. You don't think my Will did something?"

"Nope." He took her hands. Ducky went to the machine. "The beginning. You left Romania. What did you plan to do? Did you intend to go back?"

"In the end, yes. We wanted to learn as much as we could about the outside world, and we knew we've no money, so we say, we must work. That is no problem. You know, we got stuck in Croatia… sometimes I speak Serbo-Croat better than English, you know..I twist… no, I tangle my tenses. That is what Will says."

She was flustered, and Ducky gave her a hot chocolate, which made her beam for a moment. "So we worked, on farms out of the cities, away from the fighting… people were very sad, but they were kind. We weren't short of work. I'm good with animals, Radek was very strong, Florin was smart and Tina was good with children, and we make ourselves useful. After four years though, we feel trapped, and we had the orphans with us, and I wanted a better life for them. We make our way to the coast, and stole an old motor boat. It was a wreck! Am I in trouble now for that? After so long?"

"You're not in trouble, darlin'. Did anything happen during the rescue?"

"Well… we found a compass on the boat, so we knew we are going in right direction, but it is slow, and after an hour it breaks down. We were frightened then because the compass says we're going back, and we didn't want to… and then a grey boat appears with the soldiers, and I was so glad to see them, I kissed the one in charge before I even looked at him, and then I looked, and pow – we fall in love. It was just so."

Tony grinned. He was momentarily distracted by a memory of Ziva asking him if he was having phone sex. A fortuitous stab of pain in his chest helped him to shake it off. "So what happened next?"

"We went on the ship; everyone was very kind. The children had never tasted chocolate!" She took a sip of hers and sighed at the memory. "We took _showers!_ I have never since taken one for granted. After two days we were flown to a hospital in Naples, and then to New York while they decided what to do."

"And you stayed, with the children, and married Will. That much I know. Do you know what happened to your friends?"

Gibbs shifted slightly in his chair, and Tony knew he thought something had been left out of his questions. He just smiled back at him.

"I don't know what happened to Radek. Tina went to be a nurse, I lost touch. Florin lives with his boyfriend in Los Angeles. They are in films."

Tony nodded. "Can you remember anything unusual that happened on the ship?"

"No… little Teo was not well, he cried some… Radek didn't like it, he was very bad tempered, considering we'd been rescued…"

"Nadia, you'll think this is crazy, but did anyone ever mention gold? Think back… it could be important."

Nadia shook her fine blonde hair, and began to say no, then she stopped. "Not on the ship, no. Many years before, in our village. The priest knew the communists would take everything of value from the church, some of it was very old, and precious. There were communion cups, and relic caskets… the precious things, and some from other churches too, were trusted to a family of good character, to be looked after until they were safe again." Her face went hard. "The priest was beaten. But he wouldn't tell where the gold things were because once he gave them to hide, he didn't know. And he never told which family. I don't know if the gold ever came back to the churches."

Tony laughed. "I don't think it ever did. I'd never be able to spell them, hon, so write down the names of the villages for me, and we can find out. You never know, we might even be able to return them if we're lucky."

Nadia looked astounded for a moment, but she was a smart lady, and she said thoughtfully, "I can't imagine how these things from so long ago cause these terrible things now. You will have to explain." She studied Tony's face. "But you can't, no?"

"Soon, Nadia. I promise. Now I want you to go back to your friends, don't go via the concert hall, don't let the band see you, and don't tell anyone what we've talked about. Can you do that?"

"Of course I can."

"Good girl."

He kissed her forehead, and she blushed like a teenager. She wagged her finger at him. "Ach, DiNozzo…" She turned and hurried back to find the rest of the Dread Triumvirate.

**AN: OK, shorter chapter than usual… I think that's all the clues. More action in tomorrow's chapter… anyone want to tell me whodunnit? Or just that I can't write whodunnits anyway?**


	10. Chapter 10

Deck The Hall

Chapter 10

"So… what next?" Gibbs asked his SFA.

"One more thing, Boss. Something I didn't think to do before, but it might confirm or disprove my suspicions. See, unless you've read the program for Saturday, I know one thing that you don't, and it's only from talking to Nadia that I figured it. You were right about needing to talk to her. Ducky, will you go and join Ziva and McGee? Just stand there as if you're listening to the band rehearse. If any one of them tries to move, someone phone me, OK? Don't let Zi or McGee go after them without back up. That's really important, Ducky."

"Certainly, Anthony. I understand. Please don't keep us in the dark for too long."

"Give us five minutes, Ducky. That's all. Boss, with me!"

"How long ya been waiting to say that, DiNozzo?" Gibbs grumbled as they headed backstage again.

"'Bout since you first slapped my head in Baltimore, Boss," Tony said happily, as they hurried along. The expected Gibbs-slap came about a second later; Tony skipped a couple of steps. They came back to the dressing rooms corridor, and the Senior Field Agent stopped outside the Green Room. He looked up at the security camera, then went to stand outside the store room. "What d'you reckon, Boss? It's aimed at the Green Room."

"But you could move in and out of _that_ room and never be seen. Is that the room where they sent the drummer to practise?"

Tony drew his gun, and opened the door slowly, looked inside and stepped into the room. He put his gun away, and pulled out the ubiquitous latex gloves as he replied, "Sure is. I was with Ziva and we were in a hurry, so I made a note to come back later. When I saw the grin the smug bastard gave me, I _knew_ I had to come back."

They looked around, under the padded cases, and after a moment, Gibbs said, "Hey!" Tony looked round, at a very upmarket laptop which had been hidden under the bass drum case.

"Damn it all," he said irritably, "what is it with him? Why does he have to break everything?"

"Expensive," Gibbs mused. "You reckon this was Eddie's? The one Ziva thought he should have had?" He looked around. "So this was his little den. Very convenient. OK, we know how he could get in and out without being seen – went the back way, out of the fire door. He probably enjoyed the hunting through the maze thing." Tony didn't ask how he knew. He figured it for a marine thing. "But they told Ziva he was in here all the time… _a recording?_ Dammit, she should have checked!"

Tony was opening up one of the reinforced cases as his boss spoke. "Be fair, Boss," he said calmly, the green eyes holding Gibbs' blue ones. "She did tell us, we all had the same information. She didn't have time to check at that moment, and she did intend to go back later, but when did any of us have the time?"

Gibbs subsided, and looked at the contents of the case. He squinted at it in a technophobic kind of way, and raised his eyebrows at Tony for an explanation. "Digital recorder, Boss. Powerful speakers. Let's see… "He reached across to a socket, and plugged it in, then read the display. "If I understand it correctly, he recorded himself for twenty minutes, and then left it on a continuous loop. McGee can have a look later."

"So why the drummer? How long have you suspected him?"

"Can't tell you why I was certain it was one of the band, Boss. It just seemed logical. When I thought who could have broken my ribs just by squeezing, I wondered about a drummer having upper body strength, and when Ziva said she hadn't seen the guy, that made me think a bit more. Going back to check would only have confirmed what I already wondered, Boss; I could have told her to if I'd thought it was that important."

"I get the message, DiNozzo; you don't have to protect Ziva, I'm not mad at her. Anything more before we go and arrest him? Like where the gold ties in?" Tony stood up, carefully. Gibbs didn't miss it, but said nothing. He'd watch, though.

"It was on board the Kearsarge, Eddie knew about it. It came aboard with Nadia and her friends. Which of them was strong enough to lug it around for four years without anyone else noticing?"

"Radek."

"I saw in the program that the drummer's name is Ray Miles."

"Ray. Radek." Gibbs said flatly.

"Yeah, and how about Milosovich? Or Milescu? We can find out. But Radek stole the gold that was entrusted to his family. Remember he was in a mood on board the ship?" They were heading back down the corridor as they talked.

"And Ed Salter was a venal little thief," Gibbs agreed. "He went through the refugees things and couldn't believe his luck. Not sure where it goes after that, though."

Tony's phone buzzed. Ziva's voice was anxious. "Tony! The drummer has gone! The band stopped for a break, and everyone was milling around. We were trying to watch them all, and he has gone."

"Shit!" Tony yelled, as he broke into a run. "I screwed up, Boss. I should have told them who to watch."

"Why didn't you?"

"Couldn't be sure he didn't have an accomplice!"

"Then don't beat yourself up!" They ran into the auditorium, and up onto the stage, where their three colleagues were standing by the drum kit, looking puzzled. One of the metal drumsticks, lying on a snare drum, was bent like a pretzel.

"It's a challenge," Tony said. "He knows he wont get his gold back, he knows that we know who he is. He knows he's got nowhere to run to, but he's still going to try, and he's got a temper like a rhino. I don't think he's entirely rational, and he _is _dangerous. He could be thinking hostage, car, ransom… we stay in pairs."

Alan Hagen approached anxiously. "Is it Ray? Wow. OK, what should we do?"

"Get everyone you can together, stage hands, front of house, anyone, and stay together," Tony said. "Warn everyone not to approach him. Ducky, take a couple of willing people with you, and go to the DT and the other backroom people, and get them together. We'll warn the Landys as we go by."

"I've already phoned Mik," Tim said. "They'll stay in there until we say come out. Where do _we_ go?"

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Gibbs said, "Up to the storage area. He likes labyrinths, and dens."

Once again, he raised his eyebrows at Tony questioningly, and the SFA gave him a huge grin. "Right on, Boss!" He thought for a moment. "McGee, d'you still have that key?" Tim dug in his pocket, and held it up in confirmation. "OK, you and Gibbs go that way, Ziva and I'll go via the fire door, and we ought to get him in between us. One crock and one able body to each pair, should do it."

That got him a hard look from Gibbs. "Just remember you _are_ a crock, Tony," he told him in an undertone. "What's wrong with me going with you?" Tony could almost _hear_ the word 'son' tagged on at the end, and he was tempted to hug his boss – even if the temptation only lasted a microsecond.

"Boss, I'm f… OK, I'm nearly fine. Look, if Ziva decides to go all ninja, d'you think McGee could rein her in? And she mustn't, Boss, not with this guy. Even if she could get just one good blow in, her best shot, it wouldn't even dent him, before he took her apart. We have to do it differently. That's why she's not with McGee. Take care." He followed Ziva towards the dressing rooms.

* * *

Tim unlocked the door as silently as he could, and eased it open. It was dark on the other side, the last glimmer of daylight having gone. He felt for a light switch, and pressed it, but it didn't work. Bad luck or the work of the Yeti? He silently locked the door, as Gibbs produced a torch. McGee had a sudden nasty vision of their adversary bending over his unconscious body, searching for the key, so he kicked it under an old cupboard that was under the stairs. He'd worry about retrieving it later. With nothing but the glimmer of the tiny evidence torch to help, they started up the stairs, Sigs ready.

Neither one of them could say later what triggered the booby trap, although Tim did recall feeling a pain in his _other_ shin, and Gibbs thought his elbow may have hit something. It didn't matter a bit; something came clattering down on them – many somethings, some of them sharp, and some of them heavy, that carried them, tumbling, back to the foot of the stairs. For a few minutes, nobody moved. Finally:

"What the _ffff-" _McGee muttered painfully. "Gibbs… Gibbs?"

"You're on top of me, bozo," Gibbs hissed.

"Oh, er… sor – er, no… are you all right, Boss?" Tim whispered as he rolled off his boss's back, scarlet with embarrassment in the dark, only to find something sharp sticking into him. He moved again.

"Scuffed knees. Bruises. Big ones. You?"

"No worse than before – _ow_!" he hissed. "Boss, keep still."

"OK, why?"

Tim found the torch by its faint glimmer underneath something dark. "Because one of the things he piled up to get us was a mirror. The remains are all round us. I've cut my hand, but it's all right, it's my right. I can still shoot. Can you feel any cuts?" Gibbs grunted a negative. "OK, let me stand up first." He did so, carefully, bending down just the once to rub his shin. He shone the torch around, over Gibbs, and up the stairs. "I can't see any glass on you. Here…" He pulled his sleeve down over his bloody hand and helped his boss to his feet, in the confined space with shelving debris all around them. "I think the stairs are clear now," he said hopefully.

Gibbs seldom said thank you, so he settled for "Nice work. Lead on," he added, wincing. They moved upwards slowly, and found there was a little more light the higher they went, filtering in from street lighting, through unseen windows, as they climbed. They stood still and checked on the landing where the passage from the fire door came in, and were beginning to move forwards again when they heard the unmistakable sounds of a struggle ahead. They threw caution to the winds and ran up the last flight of stairs.

* * *

Tony and Ziva entered the passage from the fire door, and moved with drawn guns towards the landing. They trod slowly, letting their eyes accustom to having far less light. They knew they were expected; they wouldn't have chosen to hole up here themselves, but it was pointless trying to figure out what had made the drummer choose this place. The tall agent moving cautiously in the dim light had already said he didn't believe his adversary was altogether rational anyway, and he'd reminded Ziva of it.

"Don't try to take him on, Zi," he'd said urgently, and repeated what he'd told Gibbs. "I don't want a hostage situation here, and that could happen if he were to grab you."

"Tony, I know how to take down a man three times my size," Ziva said stubbornly. "Why do you doubt me?"

"Why do you doubt _me_, Ziva?" Tony challenged her gently. "He's not a man like others you've fought in the past. His strength is abnormal. You need to believe me on that."

"But Tony –"

"Ziva, don't make me pull rank."

"Pull what?"

"Don't force me to make this a direct order. I'm telling you. Don't tackle him." Ziva fell into a mutinous silence, which hadn't been broken since. Tony sighed silently. They were going into an ambush – or at least a hunt with an opponent who had the advantage. He could do without his ninja – no, _his_ was one thing she wasn't – whatever, he wished she'd lose the prickliness right now. They reached the landing, and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Tony wiggled his eyebrows at her in the dim light. "Hey," he said, "shall we do it together?" She just rolled her eyes at him.

They began to move silently down the ranks of shelving, checking each one out, until they reached the back of the room. There was a narrow metal staircase to a higher platform, and they realised that unless he was very well concealed on the level where they were, he must be up there somewhere. Ziva put her foot on the stair, and Tony came close behind her. They were half way up the steps, when there was an horrendous crashing sound from somewhere below.

"Wait," Tony hissed, and stood still to listen. After a few moments, his exceptional hearing picked up the sound of familiar voices. "Good," he whispered, turning back to Ziva. "Nobody's dead."

She wasn't there.

He ran up the rest of the steps, to see his partner and the Yeti circling warily. He levelled his gun in the semi darkness, but he knew that wasn't going to work. A moving target, to separate from another moving figure, in that light, when they could both change positions in an instant… He tried moving in closer, and said in a hard voice, "Forget it, Ray. You can't get out of here. And hurt her, and I'll kill you."

The Yeti laughed. "Sure," he said. "Come, then." He and Ziva launched themselves at the same time, Ziva going for a vicious high kick to her opponent's throat. It should have put him down; but _she_ should have listened to Tony. The Yeti shook his head, and simply reached for her. A moment later he had her in the same grip that he'd used on Tony earlier in the day, her back against him, his arms around her chest ready to squeeze. She kicked and wriggled, but the look of fury on her face was replaced by something that could have been fear, as she realised she was helpless.

Tony grimaced. Even if he stepped right up and stuck the gun down the raging man's ear, there was no guarantee that the bullet wouldn't hit Ziva as well. Only one thing for it. He wasn't going to like this…. He put his head down and charged. At least he managed to knock the guy over, and Ziva scrambled free. Tony leapt to his feet and tried to get his gun up, but he spent too long looking at his partner down on all fours, gasping for breath.

The Yeti simply reached up, grabbed his right wrist, swung him round like a child's toy, and flung him off. The fire in his ribs started up again, and if that wasn't bad enough, his shoulder joint subluxed with a nasty tearing sound. He rolled over, and in the half light, he thought he saw a metallic flash. He groaned; could things get any worse? The Yeti slashed at him; for freaks sake, why would the Incredible Hulk need a knife? The tip of the blade had tracked downwards from his damaged shoulder, skated aside on the thick sticky tape round his ribs, and skidded across his bicep, although he hoped the NCIS jacket was thick enough to protect his arm. Again, he was thankful he wasn't still wearing Jack Gibbs' sweater.

Gibbs… all he had to do was hold out until the Boss got here… the Yeti's head was swinging towards Ziva, shakily on her feet, again. No… no… won't do, not with the knife… he rolled to his feet, and repeated the earlier manoeuvre, since he simply couldn't think of anything else. As his charge carried him and the Yeti over the low rail and down to the floor below, he heard Ziva shouting his name, and he waited for the crash and pain – even _more_ pain, that was – of landing.

There was a bit of a bang to one of his knees. That was it? He lay, trying to figure things out, and then a whiff of garlic made him raise his head. The Yeti's face, slack jawed, was inches from his own. Oh. Well… he didn't know what to think, so he didn't think anything for a while.

**I worked VERY hard. Review, anyone? Please?**


	11. Chapter 11

Deck The Hall

Chapter 11

For Gibbs and McGee, it was like watching a slow motion sequence in a movie. The Yeti, backside against the rail, Tony dimly seen beyond him, and then the slow overbalancing and plunge down. They couldn't see the landing, since the shelves were blocking their view, but they sure as hell heard it, as the falling bodies crashed into a storage unit. Tim winced in horror, having just fought his own battle with shelving like that. He ran as fast as his injured leg would carry him, Gibbs with his bruised knees still only inches behind.

The Yeti was out cold, lying on his back across the toppled rack, Tony face down on top of him. Ziva was hurrying down the stairs, looking shaken and breathing heavily. Gibbs cuffed one of Ray Miles' wrists to the rack he was lying on, and McGee attached his other arm to a unit still standing close by. It wasn't the most comfy position they'd ever seen, and their hearts bled for him, but it was one that would be hard to struggle from. They both looked at Ziva. "I am fine," she said firmly. "He did not get the chance to break my ribs."

"Tell me – " Gibbs broke off and turned his attention back to Tony, who was starting to push himself away from his useful landing site. Unfortunately, as he could only use his left arm, it meant that his right side would hit the ground first, and there was maybe two feet to fall from the Yeti and the rack. Gibbs hissed urgently, "Get under his shoulder," as he put his hands out to break his SFA's fall, and as Ziva dropped to her knees at Tony's right side, his boss was able to lower him gently into her lap. Tim was speaking urgently into his cell phone.

"Ducky's coming, so are local LEOs; I told them to send big guys and a truck, not a squad car." Tony muttered something venomous about a cattle prod, which brought the ghost of a smile to Gibbs' face. "I suppose that's it?" Tim asked dubiously. "Is it OK to tell everyone things are safe now? Ducky filled us in, but I don't know what else Tony was thinking."

Adrenalin gone… pain back. That was something to think about; as was the persistent smell of garlic breath. He screwed his face up in disgust, and rolled off the sleeping Yeti to get away from it. He was aware of careful hands lowering him down, and a moment later was lying… by the scent of her… in Ziva's lap. His half focussed butterfly brain remembered his morning dream, and there was a voice close to his ear murmuring 'my little hairy butt' and other comforting nonsense, and it left him feeling… what? Not what he'd imagined. Bleakness, emptiness, and anger. He pushed it all aside and pretended not to hear. Waves of pain buffeted at his concentration, and he was happy to let them. He tried to focus on McGee's voice and make out what he was saying, and as always when he felt least amused, he retreated into humour.

Gibbs' voice, strong but not too gunnery sergeant, made him try harder. "DiNozzo. You hear me?"

"Yeah, Boss, I hear you."

"What d'ya think, then? Is that it? Any more of them?"

"No… I wondered… but no… _he'd_ never bother with help." He hissed faintly, and tried uncertainly to swipe at his right shoulder with his left hand.

He heard Gibbs say, "Hold him," very softly, then, "Ya ready, Tony?"

"Sure," he said lazily, knowing what was coming. He opened his eyes for the first time, and gave Gibbs a reasonable copy of his usual grin. It said clearly, "I trust you, Boss," and Gibbs swallowed the lump in his throat, lifted Tony's arm with a sure, swift movement, and put his shoulder back into place. The unpleasant scraping sound it made was louder than the squeak of pain from the patient, a moment later Tony sighed and his tense body went limp.

"So, Ziva," Gibbs asked, "What did we miss?"

"We came in from the corridor," she replied confidently. "Our eyes became accustomed to the limited light. We checked out the lower floor of the store, and realised that the killer must be on the top level. We climbed the iron stair; when we got to the top, the killer jumped us. He grabbed me from behind and began to squeeze; Tony fought with him, and they fell."

Gibbs' reaction puzzled her. He looked thoughtful, took his jacket off and spread it on the ground, folding the sleeves up for a pillow, and eased Tony down onto it. Didn't he think he was comfortable on her lap? She pointed to the handkerchief now wrapped around Tim's hand. "What happened to you two?"

Tim thought it odd that they hadn't heard the racket up here that he and Gibbs had made down in the stairwell; it had certainly been loud enough down there, but he explained without drama about the booby trap. "We broke a mirror," he said. "Who d'you think gets the bad luck? Us for breaking it, or him," gesturing towards the Yeti, "for putting it there to get broken?"

Gibbs sighed. "DiNozzo," he said. "DiNozzo got it all."

He tore Tony's ruined t-shirt straight up the front, and ripped a clean strip from the bottom. He gave it to Tim, to bind his hand with temporarily. As he eased the SFA gently out of first the jacket then the shirt, he said tersely, "Level with me, both of you. Are you OK? I don't want to find out later that you've been concealing something you need treatment for. That's DiNozzo's thing."

"I may find a few bruises tomorrow," Ziva said stiffly. She didn't like being accused of half truths, especially when she'd told Gibbs one not five minutes ago. She wondered why she didn't simply fess up; she wasn't a coward, and she could stand the wrath of Gibbs for not following Tony's instruction. She decided that it was because if she did, she would have to explain _why_ she did it, and she wasn't prepared to think about that.

Tim could see that Gibbs was unsettled, and didn't know why, but since the man who usually took on the problem of an unhappy boss was lying there, bloody, white and still, he stepped up to the plate the best way he could. "My hand will need a couple of stitches, I think, Boss," he said, "but it's OK. My shin's still bloody sore, but I've no new bruises… I kinda had a soft landing, like Tony." Gibbs gave a wry half smile, which encouraged Tim to go on. "How about you level with us, Boss? Are you all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Other than a nice new McGee shaped bruise on my gut, nothing a hot bath and a couple of Tylenol won't fix."

"Ah, if only everything in life were as simple as that," a new voice broke in. Ducky came marching down between the shelves, like Father Goose, followed by four large police officers, the Dread Triumvirate, Josh and Anne-Marie, the General Manager and a couple of stage hands.

"Great," Tony thought, as he came slowly to the surface of the black treacle pool he found himself swimming in. "It's not enough to be lying here half naked, but by the sound of it, I seem to have drawn a crowd to be half naked in front of. I've been tossed and sliced like a Caesar Salad, and now I'm the cabaret after the meal. And why's my chest all wet?" He put his left hand up to consider the problem, but another hand carefully removed it.

"I'm sorry about that, Anthony," Ducky's voice said, as his patient opened one unfocussed eye, then the other. "The strapping I put on your ribs this morning was bloodstained, and I've cleaned it up. The only alternative would have been to remove it, and you wouldn't want that, would you?" The injured man's face crunched up at the mere thought, and he tried to sit up.

Another voice said sternly, "Stay down, DiNozzo. Let Ducky do his job."

"Boss!" Tony said, trying to sit up anyway, suddenly anxious as a lot of memories came surging back. "Are you OK? And McGee?"

A hand on his shoulder pushed him down, without much effort, it seemed. "Sure we are, Tony, why?"

"I heard a crash from down the stairs, helluva crash I thought at the time… I listened carefully, and I thought then that I heard your voices, but it was still scary. You sure you're all right?"

Something flicked across Gibbs' face, and Tony registered it, but was too groggy to figure it out. "He left us a booby trap. Broke a mirror. McGee got a gashed hand, I got bruises. That's all. McGee stopped me from getting cut."

Tony looked around for his younger colleague, and saw him sitting on the bottom step of the balcony stairs. Selina Hawksworth had a first aid pack, and was treating his wound, her deft brown hands working confidently with the white dressings. The SFA smiled. "So he looked out for you, then Boss?"

"You taught him well, DiNozzo."

"Can I sit up yet? I've got a case to close."

"Hmm…" Ducky said. "I've finished dressing your shoulder for now, it will however need stitches later. I have also dealt with the small wound in your arm. Both wounds have stopped bleeding… You _may_ sit up, but you must keep your arm still, across your knees, until I can immobilise it properly. You will_ not_ attempt to leap to your feet, Anthony, you _will _accept help when you do stand up, and when all this is over, you _will_ go to Bethesda and get yourself checked over." He wiped the smile off Gibbs' face, and put one back on Tony's by adding, "As will you, Jethro."

The SFA sat up slowly, and took stock of what had happened during his siesta. The General Manager was directing stage hands in the clearing of the wreckage; there was proper lighting now, so all the bulbs the Yeti must have broken had already been replaced. The Yeti…. Tony looked around. Ray Miles sat on the floor, his hands cuffed behind him. On either side of him stood a large police officer, each with his night-stick drawn. Another stood behind him, his hand on his gun.

What was keeping the drummer quiet and subdued, however, was the blonde pocket rottweiler standing haranguing him in furious Romanian. Sometimes her voice would rise in question, and Radek, (Tony found it easier to think of him by that name, as he spoke grudgingly in his native language,) would reluctantly answer.

Ziva stood near her, not quite knowing which of them she needed to protect. She glanced over at her colleagues, and saw that Tony was conscious. He was sitting up, leaning slightly against Ducky, shirtless and shivering, and she was about to go over to him, intending to pick Gibbs' jacket off the floor and put it round him, when he looked up and his eyes met hers. The green gaze was level and expressionless, but there was nothing welcoming in it, before he looked away again, as Josh and Anne-Marie came hurrying into the store.

"We found the sweater," Josh said, handing the key of the NCIS truck back to Ducky. "We also scrounged a front-of house uniform t-shirt in the biggest size we could find."

"Very good work, dear children," Ducky said, and the two soon-to-be Princeton graduates looked at each other and giggled. They stopped laughing as they watched Ducky carefully manoeuvre Tony's right arm up so that it was drawn slightly forward and his hand pointed up at the opposite shoulder. The Senior Field Agent bore it stoically, as the arm was strapped into place, although he shut his eyes and wouldn't speak.

While he looked embarrassed at the whole business, Gibbs and Ducky carefully dressed him in the t-shirt and his beloved Daddy Gibbs sweater; when it was finally done, he said, "Thanks, Mom. Now, can we get on?" Ducky handed him a couple of pain killers, which, as usual, he swallowed dry, and he looked at his two friends. "I _will_ accept help," he murmured, and they helped him to his feet. Gibbs gave him a 'well, what next' look; Tony grinned, and walked somewhat shakily over to Radek.

"So tell me," he said, "How did you know it was Eddie and Burns?"

The drummer replied with a tirade of Romanian that made Nadia screw her face up in disgust. Tony just smiled. "OK, darlin'," he said to Nadia, "If that's what he wants, will you ask him? Oh, and tell him he makes a wonderful cushion." Nadia took in the state of him at a glance, and thought she shouldn't waste any time. Hands on hips, she looked down at her former friend and asked the question. No-one but her understood what Radek said, but the gist of it was obvious, and not nice.

One of the policemen guarding him nudged him with the end of his nightstick, and said, "Hey, friend, that's a lady you're talking to…" Radek Milescu's weapon was his physical strength; deprived of the use of that, he had nothing else. He answered Nadia sullenly, and she translated.

"He heard them arguing. He did not speak much English, but he knew the word 'gold'. He knew they had taken it and were arguing. The little one called the other one a thief. He thought the other one – he means Burns – had stolen the gold from Eddie. He could say nothing, because he had stolen it himself, and -" she shook her head in wonderment, "Radek could say nothing because _he_ had stolen it first. Since then he has watched them both… for fourteen years he has bided his time." She paused, and thought. "You know, it seems obvious now… he had a back pack that was twice the size of the ones the rest of us carried. He used to laugh and say so what, he was twice as strong as the rest of us. But he would never let us look inside. He said he had valuable books. The gold was that close to us for four years! Where is it now, Tony?"

"We'll get to that, Doll. Just ask him one thing… Did he kill anyone in his own country in order to steal the gold?"

Nadia looked sick, but she asked. Radek shut his mouth firmly, and wouldn't answer even when she repeated the question. "That'll bear looking into," Tony said sadly. He nodded to the police officers. "Thanks for your help, gentlemen. He's all yours." He shook hands with the sergeant, and Radek was hauled to his feet and led away.

"What made you ask that, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked curiously. "Don't know, Boss. I'm just feeling a little… odd… I suppose… I guess I just thought that violence comes easily to him… probably always did. Look… this place is dreary, let's go and find somewhere we can get a hot drink or something, and we'll try to fill in the gaps."

"You up for that, Tony?"

"Like I said, Boss, got a case to close."

**AN: Almost there. Last explanations coming up… hope I don't forget anything; I'm still paranoid. Oh, and Tony talks to Ziva…**


	12. Chapter 12

Deck The Hall

Chapter 12

The Green Room had hot and cold drinks machines, and a snack dispenser; it also had enough seating for a sixty piece orchestra, so they went there. Marieke van Hoorn and the Landys joined them, and as word got round, so did anyone who didn't have a job to do, as life in the Concert Hall got back to normal.

Josh had got under Tony's left arm; being a few inches shorter he was a perfect fit to support his friend as they made their way back down the corridor. Anne-Marie went the other side and put her arm round him. Nadia, after squeezing his good shoulder and giving him a long, heartfelt look, backed off. Tony smiled at her, gently, not the usual lusty grin. They understood each other: it was fun to flirt, but no more. Tony had always known that his rational view of the tiny blonde was the right one; simply a good woman that he was proud to know.

Her view was as it had always been; a hot man was to be admired, but nothing on this Earth would prise her from her husband and flock. She was sad that the hot man, her friend, and his friends, had been hurt, and that by someone she had liked in her past who had gone so far to the bad; but it could have been worse, and maybe the churches would get their precious things back. Maybe the courage of the priest, so many years ago, would be rewarded at last.

As they all sank into the comfortable, navy-blue chairs and sofas of the Green Room, she burst out, "Now, Tony, tell me, where is the gold?"

A few people repeated the word, and Alan Hagen said, "What? The windfall is _gold?_" He held his hands up. "No… wait, wait, wait. Can we start at the beginning?" Tony looked at Nadia hopefully; she began the story.

"Eighteen years ago a young man in my country stole many valuable objects that had been entrusted to his family by the church, for protection from the communists…." She explained about the backpacking tour, the war and the rescue, and the theft of the already stolen gold by Eddie, then she looked at Tony.

"We're not sure of the exact sequence after that," he said wearily, "But it then seems as if Burns stole the gold from Eddie, who stole it from Radek, who stole it from his family. Crazy or what? Burns knew where the gold was; Eddie wanted it back. He'd been biding his time, doing research on places the band had been; we reckon that Burns wouldn't tell him anything, and Eddie killed him. Neither Burns nor Eddie knew that waiting in the wings biding_ his_ time, was Radek, now calling himself Ray Miles, naturalised American, and now a very good drummer."

"I suppose he might have done that in order to join the Burns band one day," the other drummer, Zeke said thoughtfully.

Alan Hagen put in, "We've changed drummers a few times over the years, I wondered why he'd not auditioned before, and he said he'd heard about the farewell tour, and hadn't wanted to join until he knew Burns was leaving."

He was surprised when Tony drawled, "Really?" and gave him a huge grin. The Senior Field Agent continued, "Now that's interesting. Radek thinks Eddie knows where the gold is, and tries to force him to tell, he doesn't know, but Radek doesn't believe him, and kills him in fourteen years worth of nasty tempered frustration. This next bit is pure speculation, I've no other explanation for why Radek was looking for the USB – Eddie must have told him it existed, but I don't know why he didn't simply look on the computer."

"It could be that he'd just bought that lap-top and hadn't uploaded yet," Tim said helpfully, and Tony gave him a tired but pleased smile.

"I never thought of that," he said honestly.

"My field, not yours, Tony. Anyway, you've just thought of something. I know that look."

"Just had a suspicion confirmed. You and I got attacked cuz the Yeti –"

"The Yeti?" Josh asked.

"If you'd been attacked by him, Josh, you'd know where that name came from," Tim told him.

Tony nodded. "He didn't find it, Gibbs and the rest of the team did; after that, with what Nadia told us about the gold, we figured out who we were dealing with. That's it, really."

"_Tony!"_ Nadia's voice went up in exasperation. "Where is the gold?"

"Eddie thought it was still on one of the ships, or in one of the places ashore that the band visited. If it had been smuggled into the States in the band equipment, say, Burns would have been living in luxury ever since. So, let's start with the ships."

"Less risky," Gibbs said, "If you'd hidden it ashore you might never get back there."

"Or someone else might find its hiding place," Ziva said.

Gibbs took it a stage further. "But you'd try to get it home with you, so something made him leave it hidden on a ship somewhere. Also risky, but he might not have had a choice."

"So we have Burns arranging a farewell tour of the ships he's played on, and the Yeti wanting to go along," Tony said. "Alan, you're the only one who was with the band at that time; did anything unusual happen?"

The pianist thought for a while. "I remember the refugees being brought on board the Kearsarge," he said slowly, "but I don't recall any of the band having anything to do with them… I don't know about Eddie. I hadn't made the connection between Salvatore and the kid who sang with us on that ship. He was part of the ship's company, so he didn't come with us when we left. I _do _remember we left in a hurry; we were roused one morning to find that all our band equipment was being put on a plane, and we had thirty minutes to join it. The Kearsarge was going into a possible combat zone, so we had to leave at once."

Nadia said eagerly, "We had to leave too. We were flown to Naples the same morning!"

Tony leaned back in his seat with a grin like the Cheshire Cat. They could almost see the cream round his mouth. "You have _no _idea how glad I am that it was the first ship on the list," he said. "We don't have to consider all the others. Fantastic. _So…_ let's assume," he continued happily, "that the loot hasn't already been discovered and quietly appropriated by the government… the conundrum we set the present Captain of the Kearsarge is, where could you hide a large heavy rucksack in under thirty minutes, where it could lie undisturbed for fourteen years?"

"That'd be impossible," a member of the Burns band said.

"Not necessarily," a colleague answered him. He looked at Tony. "In my other life I'm an Electrician's Mate – I can think of wiring ducts and ventilation shafts that would never be opened except in a major refit. Not so difficult to access either, but no-one would bother."

They all fell silent for a while to consider this, and finally, Gibbs said, "Let's get the Navy playing Hide and Seek, then. I'll talk to the Director. Nice work, everyone." He flipped his phone.

Nadia looked at Tony with shining eyes. "If it is possible, I would like to be the one to return the treasures," she breathed excitedly. "Will and I would go… I would visit my village…"

"I hope so, darlin'," he said. "That would be good…" For a moment, he lost himself in the excited buzz of conversation, letting it wash over him, but not concentrating on any particular thing. He didn't know how long he sat like that, his eyes falling shut, until he felt someone sitting down on the sofa alongside him, and Gibbs' voice said his name quietly. His eyes snapped open "Boss?"

The blue eyes regarded him steadily. "You said you stopped to listen when you heard the crash?"

"Yeah. That's right."

"Ziva didn't mention it when I asked her what happened. Said you both went up the stairs and got jumped."

Tony hadn't realised that the Boss had already spoken to Ziva. He tried a spot of hasty damage repair. "Well… maybe that's what happened, Boss. I mean… I was kind of out of it for a while."

"Y'saying you got hit over the head, DiNozzo? Didn't think so. If you'd gone up the stairs together, you could have backed each other. So that's not what happened."

"Boss…" Tony shook his head in frustration. "Don't –"

"Do anything? You think I should not do anything, Tony?" The team leader's voice was still soft, but the tone didn't allow for any nonsense. "Did you tell her to wait?"

Tony squared his shoulders. He'd cover for the crazy ninja, but it wasn't that he couldn't lie to Gibbs; he wouldn't. "Yes. I shouldn't have looked away… I was looking towards the stairs, trying to work out what had happened to you. I shouldn't have left it so long…"

"She shouldn't have gone without you. That's what happened, isn't it."

"Boss… my case. Let me handle it. Please?"

Gibbs thought for a long, long moment. "OK," he said finally. "If you're not happy when you're done, you _will_ tell me." The green eyes gave him a hard, painful look. Gibbs still didn't raise his voice. "Ziva's failure to do as she was told could have got you killed tonight."

"Or her," his second in command said.

Gibbs stood up, and held his hand out. "Come on," he said. "Bethesda. Ducky's already taken McGee and Ziva. I told her it was your order to get herself checked." He pulled Tony carefully to his feet.

"That's fine," the younger man told him. "It's what I would have said."

* * *

Tim's shin wasn't cracked, neither were Gibbs' knees. Ziva's ribs were fine; they kept Tony longer just as he'd feared, prodding and x-raying and poking until he was ready to bite. Finally, they told him what he already knew; he had two broken ribs which were strapped just fine, no need to do anything. His shoulder dislocation had been correctly reduced and immobilised; they suggested anti-inflammatory medication, and referred him to his own doctor. When he escaped, he found only Ziva waiting, looking slightly mutinous.

"Ducky has gone to attend to the removal of Eddie Salvatore's remains," she said stiffly. "Gibbs has driven McGee home. He told me to remain here and wait since you cannot drive."

"But you came here with Ducky and McGee."

"That is true. Ducky drove my car. But I assure you I am perfectly well, and able to drive myself, and you."

They walked out to the car in silence, and Tony didn't speak until Ziva was about to switch the ignition on, then he said softly, "Wait." He shifted awkwardly in his seat to face her. She lifted her chin and waited. And was taken aback by his question.

"Have I, at any point in this investigation, treated you with disrespect?"

"No, you have not."

"If Gibbs had asked you to wait, would you have done so?"

"Yes," Ziva said uncertainly, "he is the team leader."

Tony nodded. "If McGee had asked you to wait, would you have done?"

Ziva's eyes widened as she realised what she was being asked. But she couldn't answer less than honestly. "Yes," she faltered. She had no idea how to handle this quiet, humourless, emotionless DiNozzo.

"You'd do it unhesitatingly, and then find out why."

"Yes."

"Explain to me why you wouldn't do it for me. Tell me what was going through your mind." His face was pale with fatigue, his voice still quiet and level; only his eyes burned. She didn't know what to say.

"I… I looked up and saw him… I thought I must do something…"

"Like tell me? I looked up; your gun was _back in its holster,_ Ziva. Gibbs doesn't know _that _bit. Can you imagine how I felt? Seeing the danger you'd put yourself in? Which you wouldn't have done if we'd stayed together? You thought you could take him on, and I'd warned you that you couldn't. So, you ignored both my warning and my instructions -"

"So you told Gibbs, and he left me to drive you so you could –"

There was a tiny flare of the anger he felt, but it was quickly extinguished. There was a bite in his voice but it was still soft. "You may think I'm a fool, Ziva –" she turned her face until it was all shadows and hollows in the dim light; _don't think how beautiful she is… you can't… _"But Gibbs isn't, any more than I'm a sneak. You gave him one account of what happened; I gave him another, not knowing what you'd said. I actually tried to cover, but as I told you, he's not a fool. He did however agree to let me deal with it, unless I wasn't, I quote, happy when I was done."

"Then I am in your hands," she snapped. She could not sweeten it, although she wanted to. She was wrong; there was no denying it to herself, let alone him. She had deliberately ignored an instruction from a superior, and had left herself, and him, in danger because of it. Putting an injured man in the position of having to come to her rescue was not something she had ever thought she'd do. And it was so crazy, she knew if it had been anyone else but _him, _she would not have done it. "I did not ignore your warning, Tony…"

"Yes, you did."

"I –"

"You didn't believe it. You wanted to prove me wrong." She looked at him, and registered the pain in his eyes for the first time, and was at a loss for words. "Have I given you cause not to respect me? As an agent, I mean? As a team member? As someone you work with? You're entitled to think what you like of me on a personal level, but do you doubt me professionally?"

"No! Of course not! Tony, how could you think that?"

He looked down at the awkward looking bulge of the arm strapped to his body under his clothes, as he answered.

"Well… because all day I've been telling you how well you were doing, or giving you a nod when I couldn't say anything. I've done my best – hell, I am always doing my best – to ensure that your probation is as short as possible. And all day, when we were with others, you carried out my instructions above and beyond the letter, just as a good agent should for the case leader. But as soon as there were no witnesses, your actions told a different story."

He sighed. "Ziva, if your opinion of me is this bad, have you considered what it means for the team?" She opened her mouth, but he spoke again before she could. "There's one more thing. With only an injured man to back you up, your actions today could have got you killed. I – we've already lost you once." He subsided into his seat, and shook his head. "I'm done," he said. "Drive me home, please."

Ziva reached for the ignition, and her hand fell away again. She looked at him, really looked, for the first time since the unkind remark she'd been regretting ever since she made it. He was running on empty, had been for hours. A cold feeling crept up from her stomach, and made her shiver. Now she knew why Gibbs had eased him off her lap earlier; he didn't think her fit to tend Tony if she was prepared to lie about him. Hot tears began to spill down her cheeks, shocking her. She never cried. His hand came under her chin.

"Don't."

"I could have got you killed."

He shrugged. "Well…"

Now she turned his word back on him. "Don't!" she cried fiercely. "Don't say better you than me! Don't think that!" She wiped tears away furiously. "I _did_ believe you! I didn't believe me! I could not think I could not beat someone! I could not be weak! I could not appear weak to others! I have to be able to do my job – to prove that I can do it!"

"But… isn't that what we've been trying to tell you all day? That you_ are_ doing a good job?"

Ziva scrubbed at another tear. "And then the moment I'm left to decide for myself, my pride takes over! I ruined everything I tried to do – it is not like me!"

"Hey, sometimes it is. You're strong, and confident, and proud, and –"

"Stubborn and self-willed." She sighed. "I know."

Tony tried, awkwardly to reach for a handkerchief from his back pocket, but all that flew out was a rubber glove. He laughed, and brushed another tear away from her cheek with his thumb. She was so glad to hear that laugh. She held his hand against her cheek, and said sadly, "I am sorry, Tony." And that was all it needed. He struggled to lean forward, and when he could get no further, he beckoned. She leaned across and he kissed her cheek lightly. "Trust me, sweetcheeks, it can't happen again," he said seriously.

"I know."

"And if you trust me, it won't."

**AN: That's as much Tiva as you'll get from me, folks. Until it happens in the show, I don't believe it's ever going to happen!**


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Some folks might have noticed how I like to mention characters from other stories. I've done it again, but it really doesn't harm this story if you've not come across Baz before.**

Deck The Hall

Epilogue

The Hall was decked for Christmas in a blaze of red, gold and green; the tall Christmas tree outside blazed bravely with its hundreds of tiny golden lights. The cameras lingered on it, and on the animated guests as they arrived, in their best finery, looking forward to the gala occasion. Nobody was unaware of the strange, murderous events of two days ago, and the incredible story of the gold that had been stolen no less than three times, and could be aboard a US Naval vessel, but for the most part, since the killer had been caught, people preferred to look ahead. There would be messages sent to loved ones, some live feeds linked up, and a large screen set up to display them. Tony and Gibbs had spent half of the morning in MTAC, and they were looking forward to the surprise they had planned for Nadia. And tomorrow would be Christmas Day.

Life at the concert hall had returned to normal; the previous day Ziva had checked all the forensic details and handed the sites over to the specialist crime scene cleaners. "You're the only able bodied one amongst us, Probissima, so I'm afraid the job's yours, down time or not."

"I will go, Tony," she told him without complaint, and he wondered if _she_ wondered if she were being tested. He didn't know how to tell her she wasn't; he'd said what he wanted to say and got a satisfactory answer, and that was the matter finished. Nor was he the type, when it mattered, to drag something out in order to get his own way. What was more, if he said something, and the thought that it might be a test hadn't occurred to her, he'd look foolish for suggesting it. Damn, only where Ziva was concerned could things get so convoluted… and was that sentence even more convoluted than the thought? Shut up, DiNozzo.

He had arrived at the DAR Hall around mid-day, having begged a lift from Josh; he'd like to have driven himself, but although Ducky was now allowing him to wear the sling outside his shirt, he'd threatened him with Gibbs if he attempted to take it off, or even adjust it. If he had but known it, the pain that still stabbed Tony when he moved his arm was enough to make him behave. If you _must _endure pain because you have a job to do, that's OK, but if you don't have to, then you simply don't.

As they crossed the parking lot, they observed outside broadcast units with their satellite dishes on top, and a hive of activity. Tony heard a voice that sounded familiar, turned to see if he could place it, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Baz, the young cameraman he'd met in the Virginia town of Bartram, whilst investigating the kidnapping of a Marine's son, was clearly in charge of one unit. His hair was cut a little shorter and tidier, and he wore slacks, a shirt and a tie, instead of the habitual jeans, and he wore a wedding ring. Tony thought sadly of Joanna, the brave, unhappy Sheriff he'd known then; truth was, if a day went by when she didn't enter his head at sometime, he was surprised. For a mean moment he thought of pretending he hadn't seen the young man, and he sighed. He had a scar to match on the other shoulder now, and a permanent one on his heart… no reason to be churlish though.

"Hey, Baz?" The cameraman turned, and smiled when he recognised the agent.

"Tony! Hey, man, what are you doing here?"

"Hi, Baz. I er… I helped to organise it, in a _very _small way, and I …" he pulled a wry face, "my team investigated the murders." Before they could get too bogged down in all that, he went on quickly, "So what are _you_ doing?"

"Oh, I got a great new job, so I got married… last week – haven't had time for a honeymoon. I'm in charge of the overseas broadcasts, incoming and outgoing."

Tony's face broke into a huge grin. "Really? Well, congratulations on both, and I believe fate has brought us together."

"It has?" Baz gave a mystified grin. The Special Agent pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, and then realised he couldn't write. Damn. Baz saw his dilemma, and reached inside his truck. He pulled out a laptop. "Here, write it down on this."

Tony laboriously typed with his left hand for a while, finishing with "It's a secret." He added aloud, "Hey, quit trying to look, you two!" and Josh and Anne-Marie jumped back with matching guilty grins.

They had chatted for a while, before recalling that they all had things to do, and saying goodbye. As they moved away, however, Baz called Tony back. "Tony…" he said diffidently, "I heard that Joanna was killed. Is it true?"

Tony nodded; he could hardly get the word out. "Yes."

"Oh," Baz said sadly, reading the pain on the agent's face. "I was kind of hoping I'd heard wrong." He flipped a hand in regretful farewell, and disappeared into the truck.

The two youngsters already knew about Joanna, and stayed understandingly silent as they all walked into the building.

* * *

The box they all sat in was very crowded; it was meant to seat six in comfort, and there were eleven of them jammed in as the concert finally began. The MCRT were all present, along with Ducky and Abby, the Dread Triumvirate all wanted to be together, and Josh and Anne-Marie wanted to be with their friends.

The orchestra exploded into sound, and the dancers hurtled through a fast, eye-catching routine, dressed in the red, gold and green that was all around the hall. Ducky chuckled; the tune was a very upbeat version of 'Nos Galan', the Welsh tune that was used for 'Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly', and he wondered whose idea that had been. He never found out.

Despite Nadia's nerves, (she kept on looking over to her husband and children down in the auditorium,) the whole spectacular show was going without a hitch. The Russell Burns Band had been unable to find another drummer at such short notice; or at least that was what they said. When Tony heard what they were up to, he thought they probably hadn't even tried, and when the drummer struck up his solo in their third number, and a pair of flashing red drumsticks wove incredible patterns, the gasp of amazement in the theatre was echoed in sitting rooms, on ships, and in military encampments all round the world. Hair neatly pulled back, filling his white tuxedo, Zeke was completely at his ease.

Good wishes to and from service personnel were moving across TV screens all through the broadcast, and from time to time the show would pause, the giant screen would descend from the ceiling, to show live pictures of loved ones serving far away. Gill Cooper brushed tears away; to her this was the most important aspect of the show. She knew how it had felt when her man was away; (and he was gone for ever now,) she wanted to lessen the gulf of distance just a little for others.

Nadia reached over and squeezed her hand; if it hadn't been for people serving far away from home, she didn't know what her fate, and that of her companions, would have been, and the third time that the screen was lowered, she was amazed to hear the voice-over commentator saying that they were about to visit the USS Kearsarge. Everyone in the box looked surprised; except for Tony and Gibbs, who grinned and looked smug. The Captain of the Kearsarge appeared. At the same time Tony and Gibbs left the cramped box to make room for a cameraman and sound man to enter it.

"Now," the Captain said, after sending greetings from his crew, (it seemed as if the entire ship's company was cheering in the background,) "I have a special message for Nadia Forrest, are you there, Nadia?"

Nadia looked into the camera that was suddenly pointed at her, wielded by the head of the overseas broadcast team, and stammered, "Yes, I'm here!"

The Captain, aware that the story was already well known, smiled hugely and said, "Well, Nadia, we found the stolen gold. We have it safe aboard here, and since we also hear that you and your husband fell in love on board our ship, we'd be honoured to have you both as our guests here, as soon as you wish, and we'll then provide the means for you to return it to those it truly belongs to."

To Gibbs and Tony, hovering in the doorway to the box, the gasp from Nadia, and the swell of approval that ran round the auditorium were entirely gratifying.

"Yes," the tiny Romanian woman managed, "oh, yes!"

Tony shook Baz's hand, (awkwardly, left handed,) remembering briefly another time he'd done so, then he pushed the memory aside. "Thanks, Baz. You're a pal."

Baz chuckled. "Hey, it was an exclusive," he said, before hurrying back to his post. Tony went back into the box, to be greeted by Nadia flinging her arms around him. He braced himself, but she had the sense to only squeeze his left side.

"Ach, DiNozzo, it was you, yes? You did this."

"Well, me and the Boss," he told her honestly, and Gibbs was the shocked recipient of a similar tornado hug. He smiled, just a little, and didn't resist.

The show carried on; Marieke van Hoorn, wearing a deep blue dress studded with diamonds, and looking as if she had wrapped the midnight sky around herself, let her radiant voice float out over the spellbound audience; when she fell silent there were about two seconds of stunned silence before thunderous applause erupted.

Sir Quinton played his audience like fishes, making them howl with laughter or wipe tears away, and the Randy Landy Band were loud, passionate, fiery and brilliant. 'Get Your Reindeer off my Roof' got a raucous storm of applause.

Neither the audience, nor many of the staff or organizers knew what to make of it, however, when, as the Landys were taking their final bow, Randy walked to the wings and led Mik van Hoorn back onto the stage. She was wearing a flowing dress of pure crystal white, with deep bell sleeves; with her hair loose round her shoulders, she looked like an angel. The leader of the rock band, alongside her, dressed in black from head to foot, with a few flashes of silver, and his long, curly dark mane also loose and flying as he moved, looked a very handsome devil. The contrast between them was breathtaking, but when June struck up softly on her keyboards, and the two began to sing, their voices could have been born for each other.

The carol was an unusual one, the tune a lullaby in three time, the words old and poetic.

_All my heart this night rejoices,_

_As I hear, far and near,_

_Sweetest angel voices._

_Christ is born, their choirs are singing,_

_Till the air everywhere_

_Filled with joy is ringing._

The little frozen ghost of misery that had been sitting on Tony's shoulder ever since he had thought of Joanna was melted away. He felt chills down his spine; he looked at Ziva, sitting next to him, and saw she was absolutely still. He'd heard a few unfortunate attempts to blend musical genres in his time, but this was perfect.

_Come then, let us hasten yonder,_

_There let all, great and small, _

_Kneel in awe and wonder._

_Love Him who with love is yearning,_

_Hail the star, that from far,_

_Bright with hope is burning._

He looked at his partner again, and this time she looked back at him. There was the ghost of a tear on her cheek. The corner of her mouth lifted in a tiny smile; he reached over and took her hand, and didn't let go until the carol finished. Under cover of the almost reverent applause, he whispered, "They took your advice!"

Ziva smiled. "Tony, she and I have spent all day scoring DC for that dress."

_Scouring, Zi, scouring… hell, who cares?_

They sang Silent Night; the audience joined in. They sang O Come All Ye Faithful, everyone else came back on stage to sing with them, and the concert ended in a wonderful burst of song.

The last notes died away, Sir Q gave the goodnights, the audience began to drift away. The performers and everyone else involved went back to the Green Room where food was waiting. Tony was tired; he knew it would be a few days yet before he felt right, so he found a quiet corner and sat down to think. He hadn't organized more than a couple of ideas before Abby and McGee found him. Tim just said, "Let me know when you've had enough, and I'll give you a lift home," then left him alone. The rest of the team joined them, along with the youngsters and Ducky.

"You never told us the gold had been found," Josh said accusingly. "Was that the secret you wrote down for Baz?"

Tony just grinned.

"So isn't anyone going to tell us what happened?"

Gibbs said, "Well, the Captain figured it out for himself. The Kearsarge was a new ship in 1995, so Burns was lucky. An older vessel might have needed major work between then and now, and had things like panels and floors removed. All they did was work out which rooms the band had used, and removed everything they could, until they found the rucksack. We spent half the morning in MTAC, the other half with the Romanian Ambassador. Nadia and Will, perfect couple to take it back, just as she hoped."

"So now we have all the answers;" Tim said cheerfully.

"No," Ziva said fiercely, "we do not."

"We don't?"

"No! Tony was most secretive about something, he wouldn't tell me what he was smiling about –"

"Oh, yes. Said it wasn't his secret," Tim agreed. "Told me to ask Abby." All eyes turned towards the Goth girl, who thought for a moment, then looked appealingly at Gibbs.

The Boss sighed. "Go on, then."

Abby opened her cell phone. After tapping a few keys, she passed the phone round, and they all looked at the photo displayed. Although the snowy beard obscured the face, the bright blue eyes of Santa left no doubt who it was under the hood. The picture brought smiles to all their faces.

"Nice work, Boss," Tim said approvingly, and tried to pass the phone to Tony. The Senior Field Agent was fast asleep, his head lolling sideways against Anne-Marie's shoulder.

"Ssh!" she said quietly.

Gibbs looked at his second in command, his face unreadable. "Let him sleep," he said firmly and stood up, preparing to leave. He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair out of Tony's eyes. Only Abby heard what he whispered.

"Ho ho ho."

**Done. I hope you don't mind it being a bit sentimental. It **_**is**_** Christmas. Soon.**


End file.
